When there's nothing left
by Charming the Snake 13
Summary: Brienne doesn't kill Stannis and Sansa doesn't jump of the wall with Theon. Stannis finds the real Lightbringer and uses it against the Others with the help of Jon, Sansa and many others. Of course, the fight for Westeros just can't go right without Dany and her dragons. But Stannis and Dany will soon discover that the real enemy isn't always the obvious one.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's note_ : After reading about the Dawn Age, the Empire of the Dawn, the Bloodstone Emperor and the Amethyst Empress, the origin of dragons and how they came to be ridden by valyrians and a lot of other incredible stuff in TWOIAF and other sources, I just couldn't resist fantasizing about magic in its full power, Asshai and Stygai, what the Shadow is, who the tiger – men are, what the Children of the Forest are really up to and what they all have to do with the Others and the long and unbalanced seasons.

Hope you like the story and please review!  
I don't own any of the characters. Not making money, just having fun.

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"In the name of Renly of house Baratheon first of his name the rightful king of the Andals and the First Men Lord of the seven kingdoms and protector of the realm, I Brienne of Tarth sentence you to die!"

Stannis looked up at the warrior woman standing in front of him.

So this was it. This was how he was going to meet his end. Powerless, defeated and alone. At the hands of someone who wanted revenge for killing his brother...  
Strangely enough, Stannis almost felt good about dying by Brienne's sword. Because it wasn't just a sword of a random soldier he never knew about flung to kill blindly at command. It was the sword of justice for his family. The sword of truth about himself.

He flinched from the pain in the wounds on his leg that shot through his entire body.

"Do you have any last words?"

Last words! What could he possibly say to her of all people?!  
That he was sorry for destroying his family?! Of course he was but none of them were here to listen. And there was no point in saying it to a stranger, who wouldn't believe him anyway.  
That his actions were all for one purpose alone - doing his duty by the realm as he saw it? That duty was the thing that kept him going all of his life because there was nothing else to live for and he couldn't live otherwise anyway? In his heart of hearts he knew that was absolutely true, so he didn't need to say it aloud.  
That he was trying his best to fulfill his destiny?! So much for his destiny! That was just too pathetic and embarrassing to say out loud.  
Isn't it funny how a pair of beautiful eyes lit up with admiration and a couple of flattering words coming from wonderfully formed lips can destroy a man's sense and judgment and make him believe he's some sort of legendary hero, bound to save the world from destruction?!  
Well, if he was stupid enough to believe the red woman and do everything he did, he deserved both defeat and death. He even deserved betrayal. Especially betrayal! He deserved to get as good as he gave when he led his innocent child to the slaughter. Her eyes… so full of love… so full of trust… For that alone he deserved to burn for all eternity in whatever hell awaited him on the other side. He actually wanted to!

There was nothing to say, except…

"Go on, do your duty."

The woman drew her sword and stood above him, her young ugly face filled with dead – set righteous rage. And for a split second Stannis wondered if this was the look he usually had on his own face. Did those around him see in his eyes that hard unbending truth of a warrior duty-bound to fulfill an oath or a destiny? Did Shireen see it when he murdered her?!  
Once again Stannis flinched with pain but this time it had nothing to do with his wounds. This was the pain that replaced his soul these days. So constant and intense that he stopped even noticing it until now. But that made sense. Now was a moment of truth.

Brienne of Tharth raised her weapon above her head. In a few seconds it would all be over and he would face the unknown of 'Valar morghulis'. He wasn't afraid of death. He had seen it too closely too many times. And now was the first and only time he was going to really know it.  
Stannis looked up and stared directly into the woman's eyes. Even though she was tall and strong, more so than many men, he could sense there was something very small and fragile about her. She looked tough, but he knew she was very young and not battle-hardened at all. Not really. There was so much she still needed to learn and no doubt she would do it the hard way. Well, he was going to teach her something right now. Everyone should see the eyes of the man they were going to kill. And of the man who was going to kill them.

Brienne screamed, her sword whizzed before Stannis's eyes and hit the ground next to him with a loud thud. For a moment both remained completely still as if they couldn't quite believe he was alive.

Finally Brienne broke the silence.

"As much as I'd like to, I won't kill you" – she said, sliding the sword back in its scabbard.

"You'd rather leave me to the Boltons?" – Stannis asked trying to sound indifferent.

In truth he wasn't at all looking forward to being captured and tortured for who knows how long by the bastard Ramsey, who definitely wasn't one to miss his fun. Stannis much preferred a quick and easy death as anyone in his position would have. But if this was his fate… well… so be it!

"No" – Brienne answered severely – "I'm going to trade you."

"Trade me?" – Stannis said surprised – "What ever for?"

"Sansa Stark" – Brienne replied contentedly – "A false king for the child of lady Catleyn. I'll take you to Winterfell and demand they set her free. I shall fulfill both my vow to lady Stark and my promise to avenge king Renly."

"Roose Bolton will never give up the Stark girl" – Stannis chuckled at the extraordinary nativity of the plan – "Not for me, not for anything else. You're a fool to even try. If you go anywhere near Winterfell and start bargaining, Bolton will have you captured and locked up in a cell before you can blink."

"Do you think I will believe anything you say, kinslayer?!" – Brienne snorted crossly.

"If you've got any sense you will" – Stannis shrugged his shoulders – "Don't you realize that Sansa Stark is the key to Bolton's grip on the North? Do you seriously think he will give up his crucial leverage for nothing?!"

"How self – critical of you" – Brienne said, raising her eyebrows.

"I'm not being self – critical, I'm being objective." – answered Stannis calmly.

"Are you?!" – Brienne asked sarcastically – "I thought you were simply trying to talk me out of my plan."

"Of course I am, you idiot, but for your sake"

"Oh really?!"

"Lady Tarth, take a good look at me" – Stannis sighed a bit irritably – "I have no army, no power, no gold and no family. All I have left are my wits and my sword. Of what use could I possibly be to the Boltons? You, on the other hand, have a father who would pay a handsome ransom for your freedom and safety. And if for some reason he doesn't, no one would even think to second guess the decision of the Warden of the North to kill a prisoner, who, incidentally, tried to kidnap his happily married daughter in law under the ridiculous pretext of promising her dead mother something completely irrelevant."

"I am not trying to kidnap her! I don't know that she's happily married!" – Brienne cried defensively – "And my vow is not ridiculous!"

" No need to convince me" – answered Stannis as he watched Brienne's face closely. He could see the inner struggle she had between her brain that knew he was right and her heart that didn't know anything except the fact that she wanted him dead and Sansa Stark free.

Luckily for all involved, Brienne finally accepted that her enemy was right and decided to revoke her plan. But the trouble was she was at her wits end about helping Sansa. Was the girl really happy with these monsters that murdered her family?! Brienne could hardly believe it. But she couldn't very well spend her whole life waiting for the signal as she has done for the last three months.  
Suddenly it hit her! 'All I have left are my wits and my sword' – he had said… Stannis Baratheon may be a murderer and a bastard… and he may have lost a battle, but he is still one of the greatest commanders in Westeros. She had often heard her father and her superiors at Storm's End praise him very highly. The brilliant strategist and the fearless battle general, equaled only by Tywin Lannister himself. Surely he could think of something! And it wouldn't hurt to have a skilled warrior at her side.  
Even the likes of Stannis should have the decency to help the daughter of an old friend.

"Very well" – Brienne said reluctantly – "I won't give you to the Boltons but only for lady Sansa's sake mind. If I should be captured there would be no one left to help her"

"A wise and selfless decision" – Stannis grumbled as he watched Brienne's face redden with annoyance. Strangely enough he was actually beginning to enjoy teasing the poor girl. She was rather funny when irritated. Dangerous, but still funny. Like an overgrown five year old.

"If you want me to spare your life, kinslayer, you have to help me" – Brienne said importantly.

"And why in the seven hells do you imagine I would want you to spare my life?" – Stannis asked honestly.

"You can either die here of cold and blood loss, or you can help me free lady Sansa!" – Brienne replied forcefully – "I'm not just offering to save your present worthless life, I'm giving you a chance to do something good with it"

Stannis couldn't argue with that! He may be crushed into the dirt, fallen beyond all redemption… His soul may be devastated and his life worth nothing… but he still had his brains, his skills, his experience and hard – earned knowledge. And Stannis could think of nothing better than using them to help a lost little girl. Perhaps more than one, he said to himself as he looked at the tall young warrior standing in front of him with her hand on her sword. Brienne was desperately trying to look confident but it was clear to anyone she was in over her head. And more to the point it was his duty to help Eddard Stark's daughter for her father's sake as much as for her own.

"Well?! Will you help lady Sansa or won't you?!" – Brienne asked trying to hide the little nervous shake in her voice.

Stannis was many things, but most of all he was a born fighter, a very stubborn one at that. And stubbornness is what remains when all hope and strength are gone. The one thing that pulls you through when all else fails. This was the main principle that guided him through his entire life. No matter how many times he fell down, he was always too stubborn to quit, so he always got up.  
And he'd be damned if he didn't do it again now!

"Of course I'll help her" - Stannis said with a steel determination in his voice very familiar to those who knew him - "I'll help the both of you."

Brienne nodded, tore off a few pieces of cloth from the sleeve of one of the dead soldiers and threw them to Stannis. He bandaged his wounds as best he could, than picked up his sword, thrusted it into the frosty ground and leaned on the hilt as he got up, his face distorted with a grimace of pain.

"Get my dagger, will you? It's there" – Stannis said as he pointed at the corpse of the soldier he had just killed.  
Brienne sighed irritably for appearances sake, but she knew perfectly well he wouldn't use his injured leg if he could possibly help it. So she pulled the daggar out of the man's throat, put Stannis's arm over her shoulder and helped support his weight. It was relatively easy, since Stannis was just a little taller than she was. And his armor was rather light.

"How long do you think they'll keep looking for you?" – Brienne asked trying to think of some place to hide that was both safe and near enough to the castle in case Sansa should decide to signal her tonight.

"Not long. Might've stopped already" – Stannis grunted, trying to ignore the burning pain in his leg – "They didn't chase any of the men that managed to run far enough away from the battlefield. Too lazy to waste their time on deserters, so I doubt they'll want to bother identifying bodies. Most likely they've decided I'm dead and if not, I'm no threat or use to them anyway."

"Good" – said Brienne quite pleased to be spared the trouble of having to hide her prisoner and then go looking for Podrick – "Our camp should do well enough then."

"Whose camp is that?" – Stannis asked curiously.

"Mine" – Brienne snapped - "And my squire's. He can't fight properly yet, so I left him to guard the camp and wait for my return."

"You mean you're trying to save the Stark girl alone?"

"Yes!" – Brienne said bitterly – "And I would've done so long ago if she had trusted me and not that bastard Littlefinger!"

"Baelish?" – Stannis hemmed – "He's her guardian now, is he?"

"Yes. Because he's her uncle by his marriage to lady Catlyn's sister."

"Jon Arryn's wife married to that piece of filth!" – Stannis snorted disgustedly.

"He was so smug and pleased when lady Sansa chose him!" – Brienne added angrily ignoring Stannis's remark - "The liar who claimed to care for her and then sold her to the Boltons!"

"Littlefinger can be very convincing, when he chooses. And in this case he probably didn't even have to lie" – Stannis said, gritting his teeth as another wave of sharp pain shot through his leg - "The daughter of his beloved Cat?! He cares for her all right..."

"What?!"

"Sansa Stark is a pawn in his game, but a prized and cherished one. Just because he uses her, doesn't mean he doesn't want or like her."

"How can he care for her and use her at the same time?!" – Birenne asked completely confused and outraged.

"See, this is why young girls trust people they shouldn't" – Stannis answered in a mentor's tone, deciding to remain silent about the fact that he himself was in no position to criticize.

"You seem to know him well" – Brienne replied mistrustfully, but with a shade of admiration in her voice.

"We served on the Small Council together for over ten years. Of course I know him well" – Stannis replied through gritted teeth.

Podrick was pacing nervously up and down in front of the ruined little hut that served as their camp for the last two months as he waited for Brienne to return. She had been gone for over two hours and although she was the best fighter he had ever seen, the young squire was getting more and more worried by the minute. Brienne had ordered him to stay at the camp, but now he wished he had disobeyed her. What if she was captured or killed by Stannis Baratheon or the Boltons?! What if he could've helped her?! How could he find out if she needed his help now?! And what in the world was he supposed to do to if she was gone?!  
Suddenly he heard slow, heavy footsteps and rusping of armor from behind the bushes. He felt his heart stop for a moment. Gulping down the fear, Podrick quietly picked up his ax and crept up behind the thick bushes that hid him from whoever it was on the other side. He soon found a little gap in the bundle of branches and peeked through it. He couldn't see anything except the snow that covered the ground.

"Podrick!" – Brienne's voice called making him jump with fright – "Get over here!"

Relieved and happy, the young squire threw down his ax and rushed out of his hiding place.

"My lady, I…" – he cried, but stopped midsentence when he saw the man his mistress was practically carrying on her back. He was half – conscious and limping badly. Podrick had never seen him before, but from what he had heard back at King's Landing, he could guess, who he was. But why in the world would his mistress want to save a man she swore to kill?! Whatever the reason, he wasn't going to ask.

"We need a fire right now!" – Brienne said hastily.

"Are you mad, it's too dangerous!" – the man groaned.

"Shut up before you pass out" – she snapped and turned to Podric again – "Have we got any wine left?"

"No, my lady" – the squire answered perplexed – "And we don't have any firewood either… I dropped both the bunch and the rabbits when I saw…"

"Then go get it! Right now!" – Brienne yelled – "And when you've done that, run down to the village and get some wine!"

The lad took off as fast as his legs could carry him. And an hour later he was sitting in front of the fire, skinning the rabbits and taking occasional glimpses at Brienne who was digging into one of their sacks looking for bandages, needle and thread and lord Stannis who was asleep wrapped up in her cloak. His armor and weapons lay next to him.

"Oh! Finally!" – Brienne sighed irritably pulling out everything she needed – "Podrick, why are our things in such a damned mess?!"

"Sorry, my lady" – the squire answered meekly, deciding not to make the point that the mess always occurred after his mistress had been anywhere near the sack.

"Is the wine hot yet" – Brienne asked.

Podrick wiped his hand on his clothes and felt the liquid in their small cauldron with his finger.

"Yes, my lady."

"Good! Bring it over here."

Brienne sat down on the ground next to Stannis and woke him up by taking of the bandages that were soaked in blood. Podrick carefully took of the steaming cauldron and put it next to Brienne. She blushed a little bit when Stannis untied his breeches and took off one trouser leg exposing two deep wounds on the side of his right leg. One on the thigh, one just above the knee…

"Normally the clothes covering wounds should be cut off" – he said, breaking the rather awkward silence.

"Are the wounds very serious?" – Podrick asked shyly.

"No" – Brienne shook his head – "But he's lost a lot of blood."

"How d'you know when a lot is a lot?" – Podrick asked not knowing what else to say.

"When the heart races, the injured looks pale and feels dizzy. But in this case there's little to worry about. With rest and treatment he's very likely to recover soon" – Stannis replied, looking skeptically at Brienne who was trying rather clumsily to thread the needle - "When the injured's breath is heavy, his heart beats so fast it seems like his chest is about to burst and he has no idea of what's going on, he's in trouble. Anything worse – he's a dead man."

"Have you ever treated a wound, Pod?"– Brienne asked nervously when she finally managed to get the thread in place.

"No, my lady" – the lad answered a bit meekly. He wasn't at all keen on healing.

"Obviously, neither have you" – Stannis sighed – "Leave the thread alone. Clean the wound first."

"I know what to do"! – Brienne snapped and thrust the needle into Podrick's hands – "I've seen maesters do it many times"

Then she took her cup and dipped it into the cauldron.

"You might want to get a piece of cloth first" – Stannis frowned.

"I'm going to!" – Brienne said irritably.

"Why does she need cloth?" – Podrick asked as he watched Brienne cut off a piece of a bandage and dip it into the wine.

"Watch" – she answered and started to wipe the skin around the wound.

"From the cut, not to it!" – Stannis hissed through gritted teeth – "There's no puss in there yet!"

"Now pour the wine directly into the wound" – he continued breathing heavily and clenching his fists – "Good! Again! No, not on the second one yet! Always stitch up before going for another wound."

"Where did you learn all this?" – Podirck asked in awe.

"Battle experience" - Stannis answered.

"You'd better drink this" – Brienne said giving Stannis a full cup of hot wine. He poured it down his throat in one gulp.

"Right… "- Brienne said nervously taking the needle from Pod – "Approximate wound edges, don't insert the needle too close or too far and tie nods tight enough to hold, but not too tight."

"Correct" – Stannis nodded and clenched his teeth, bracing himself for Brienne's slow and clumsy stitching.

The three of them were very glad when all was finally over and both his wounds were stitched up and bandaged.

"Now" – Stannis said lying on his back – "Tell me about the Stark girl."

"There's not much to tell" – Brienne sighed, turning over the rabbits that were strung up above the fire – "I offered her protection, she refused it. When Bealish took her to Winterfell, we followed. When we got here, she was already at the castle, so I asked a loyal servant of the Starks to give her a message, that if ever she needed my help, she should light a candle at the top of the broken tower and I would come. We've been watching out for it every day for two months, but to no avail."

"Is that all?!" – Stannis asked after a heavy pause.

"Yes"

"Do you mean to tell me that the two of you have been standing sentry gazing at the tower every day for two months without even thinking of trying to find out what was actually going on at the castle?!" – Stannis said completely stunned and not really believing his ears.

"The old man swore his wife would give lady Sansa my message!" – Birenne said defensively, starting to feel like a prize idiot under the gaze of piercing deep dark blue eyes.

"Didn't it ever occur to either of you that the man or his wife might have been captured, interrogated and killed before they had a chance to give the girl your message? Or even worse… after?" – Stannis asked and sat up - "Or that they might be spies for the Boltons? Or that Sansa Stark might be locked up and unable to give the signal?"

"If the Boltons knew we were here ready to help Sansa Stark they would've come after us" – Brienne replied lowering her eyes, completely embarrassed at being so foolish – "They didn't so they don't know."

"Either that or they correctly don't believe you to be a serious threat" – Stannis sighed – "May I ask how you intend to get into the castle if you do see the signal?"

"Er… through the gate?" – Podrick asked quietly.

Stannis didn't even answer. One look was quite enough to convey all his thoughts on the matter.

"And I suppose I'm wasting my breath asking if you fools have even the slightest idea about where you're going? And by that I mean the structure of the castle, location of its towers, rooms, passages etc.? How were you planning to find the girl if you somehow managed to get past the gates?! Ask for directions?!"

"More or less…" – Brienne replied shifting the rabbits again and not daring to take her eyes away from the fire – "Anything else you want to say?!"

"Say?!" – Stannis snorted – "What can I say, except…Brienne of Tarth… beauty and brains!"  
"Aaaaaaaargh! Damn you!" – he screamed as Brienne's fist landed on one of his wounds.

"Don't you dare insult me!" – she yelled.

" It's not an insult if it's the truth!"

"Oh yes it is!"

"It's not my fault, all the truths about you are insults" – Stannis shot back.

His insensitive remark was immediately followed by another hit, but this time he caught her fist before it could deliver its message.

"Stop being so childish" – Stannis said calmly, holding her hand firmly as she tried to free it – "There's nothing wrong with making mistakes. Even stupid ones. As long as you face the music and learn."

"Stop insulting me and I'll stop being childish"– Brienne grumbled and jerked her hand, trying to free herself from Stannis's iron grasp.

She twitched irritably as he loosened his grip and moved away to sulk on the other side of the fire.  
Stannis sighed and rolled his eyes. What in the world did those two think they were doing out here?! Two children without a bloody clue!

"So… what do you think we should do?" – Podrick asked, knowing Brienne would never do it herself now, no matter how much she wanted to.

"We sneak into the castle to rescue the girl of course. Without waiting for any kind of signal."

"Really?!" – Brienne snorted resentfully – "And how does the great master general propose to do it?! "

"Quickly and discreetly" – Stannis answered with a grunt that was actually his version of a chuckle.

"D'you mean to say you know how to get around the castle gates?!" – Brienne asked dumbfounded.

"Of course I do"– he said importantly – "And I have a fairly good idea where to look for her. You didn't seriously think I was marching on Winterfell without a battle plan, did you?! I found everything I could about Winterfell from Jon Snow before I even started to think of siege. And, by the way, that is what you two should've been doing these last two months."

"Well if you're so clever, why aren't you sitting in the great hall of Winterfell celebrating your victory right now?!" – Brienne asked spitefully, glad for the opportunity to get a bit of her own back.

"Because no battle plan in history has ever survived first contact with the enemy. Attack, assess improvise, adapt, overcome. That's how you do it" – Stannis explained trying his best to feign indifference – "But in this case my real enemy was the cold. I lost half of my forces after our first clash and would've surely lost the other half had I turned back. So I had to gamble. I knew Roose Bolton was never one to act if he could get what he wanted by waiting. He would've stayed behind his walls believing himself safe and watched me freeze to death in my camp without any casualties. Winterfell is neigh unbreachable solid rock, but it does have one weakness… the overlaps are made of wood. All I had to do was feign siege preparations, send twenty good men into the castle through the secret passage that only Starks know about, set it on fire and catch the Boltons outside the burning keep. But apparently Ramsay Bolton is the smart one in the family. So here I am."

"A risk against a certainty…" - Brienne said quietly not feeling so vindictive anymore for some reason – "But why the north?! Why not try and attack King's Landing again?"

"Because the Night's Watch pleaded for help against the wildlings. They were completely overwhelmed by Mance Raider. Castle Black would've fallen had we not come in the nick of time."

"But why you?"

"Because out of all the lords they asked for help, I was the only one that answered. Little did I know, the wildlings were the least of my worries" – Stannis sighed – "Anyway, let us get back to the matter in hand."

Brienne would dearly have liked to know what Stannis meant by the wildlings being the least of his worries. She never considered herself too bright, but it was plain even to her, that it was something far more complicated than just the struggle for the Iron Throne.

"Yes" – she said, dismissing the idea – "When do you propose to do it?"

"Tomorrow night would've been perfect. When all the Boltons will have been at the victory feast. But that's not possible."

"Why?"

"Because I can't help you. And don't even think about going alone. You'll fail" – Stannis said categorically, shaking his head.

"But it would take weeks for your wounds to heal!"– exclaimed Brienne.

"Not that long! They don't need to be fully healed. Just enough for me to be able to run and fight through the pain."

"Still…"

"You've waited for two months, what's another week?! We could use the time to find out more about the guards, the castle routine…"

"But tomorrow would be perfect, you said so yourself!" – Brienne said stubbornly.

"Even if I tell you everything I know about the castle, you need all the help you can get!" – Stannis replied getting annoyed with the silly girl.

"Beg pardon, my lord" – Podrick interrupted quietly – "You said we'd go once you could walk through the pain?"

"Yes…"

" Would 'Milk of the poppy' enable you to make it tomorrow?"

"A large dose of it would. And tight bandages" – Stannis replied eyeing the lad curiously – "But where the hell are you…"

"I have two bottles. Would that be enough?" – asked Podrick taking two small ampules of milky – white liquid out of his breast pocket and giving them to Stannis.

"Ample!"

"Where in the world did you get them?!" – Brienne asked as her jaw finally managed to return to its proper place.

"Ser Bronn gave them to be before we left King's landing" – the lad answered - "He said I should always have a couple of bottles on me and acquire them whenever I can by any means necessary. And never tell anyone I have them."

"Smart man!" – Stannis said with a touch of admiration lifting his eyebrows.


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks very much to everyone for your comments! Hope you like what comes next.

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Sansa lay motionless, staring blankly onto the wall. Tears rolled off her pale and weary face and disappeared in the fuzzy fur cover of her bed. She had been so close to freedom! Just one step and she and Theon would've flown away from all their pain and sorrow to join the old gods and the spirits of the ones they loved. But Ramsay's grip on them both was far too tight to be broken at will it seemed. His soldiers had caught them at the last moment and dragged them back to what they called safety.  
And now she was in her cell that had once been her mother's chamber and once again her life and will were fully submitted to Ramsay's every whim. So were poor Theon's. Except he wasn't brought back to a warm, comfortable room. Not even to his cage with the hounds.

He was accused of killing Ramsay's mistress and attempting to murder his wife, so they locked him in one of the cells beneath Winterfell. And Ramsay, who was too smart not to have guessed what really happened, strangely enough wasn't at all displeased by his mistress's death. In fact he was rather glad to have a reason to taunt and torture his poor slave, as if he needed one in the first place.  
He was over the moon and almost drunk with pride at defeating Stannis Baratheon. His blood was up so he wanted to play.

Sansa knew exactly what would happen. First Ramsay would get warmed up by torturing the prisoners they had captured on the battlefield. He would perform all the usual procedures of questioning and extracting information by force, but let the victims go in the end as his father didn't allow him to keep them for too long. Cruel and unfeeling as Roose Bolton was he never approved of Ramsay's games.

After doing his 'duty' as Ramsay called it, he would order poor Reek to be brought to him and fully taste the sadistic pleasure that seeing pain gave him. He didn't hurt Reek physically anymore, he had his prisoners for that. Reek gave him the thrill that none other victim ever could – the sheer delight of complete mental domination over an entire being. His quiet, even polite conversations with Reek were an excruciation far worse than any physical torture even Ramsay could think of. He would indulge in it for hours and only after he had extracted the last exquisite ounce of agony, after he had his poor slave begging for death did he stop and move on to the third part of his routine, which was Sansa.  
She had it very lightly, compared to the other victims. Ramsay would always be aroused by the time he got to her, but there was more fun to be had yet. He indulged in foreplay by gently caressing and then hitting her, by whispering sweet words mixed with insults. She submitted silently to his pleasure and clenched the fur of the covers as he took her roughly and brutally.

Sansa knew she was slowly dying in her own body and being replaced by some disgusting strange creature. She realized she had to fight this change and defeat Ramsay with her own female strength as Littlefinger had told her to do, but she didn't want to. Not anymore. It was impossible. No one could defeat this evil. Not Theon, not her dear brother Robb, not even Stannis, the great general her father had praised to the sky. There was nothing left to either hope or fear… Now she could only wait…

Sansa closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep, but was woken up, by a hand that gently brushed her cheek.

"Bran?!" – she exclaimed, staring wide – eyed at her little brother lying next to her – "My darling brother! How can this be? Am I dreaming?"

"Yes and no" – Bran smiled mysteriously.

"What are you doing here?" – Sansa asked completely confused – "Are you all right? Where's Rickon?"

"Shhhhh…" – he answered smiling at her and stroking her cheek – "Do not worry about us, we're both alive and safe."

"Tell me where to find you" – she begged – "I'll find a way to help. Somehow I will, I promise!"

"No, Sansa " – Bran shook his head sadly – "We will never see each other in the flesh again. And Rickon and I aren't the ones losing our souls. I came because you need help. And our people need you. The War has begun…"

"I'm sorry, Bran!" – Sansa said tears rolling down her cheeks – "I'm sorry for being so week and giving up. But I can't…"

"Find your strength! You're a wolf of the North, sweet sister. The last Stark at Winterfell" – Bran said proudly – "And do not be afraid. Help will come very soon."

"Help?" – Sansa asked afraid to allow herself any hope – "What do you mean"

"Remember, Sansa. You have to remember" – Bran smiled – "And good luck."

"Remember what? I don't understand!" – she cried, but her brother didn't answer.

"Bran, please don't leave me" – Sansa called desperately.

"Never" – he answered with a wink.

The next thing Sansa knew, she was walking in the crypts beneath Winterfell. It was very dark, not a single torch or candle was lit, but somehow she saw everything around her. Some strange force guided her to a place she knew she was supposed to see. Sansa walked past all the familiar tombs and stopped at the end of the last of many corridors. In front of her was an old oak door beautifully decorated with strange carvings – the entrance to the lower levels. She had never been through that door. None of her family had, to her knowledge at least. No one exactly knew why, but what lay behind it was considered forbidden ground for many generations and her father was never one to break tradition for the sake of curiosity. But the strange guiding force urged her to open it. Sansa pushed the heavy wood and it opened with a loud creek. Behind it lay a narrow staircase that led down. Sansa took a deep breath of damp heavy air and started to walk down the stairs into the unknown. As she went on, she saw several similar doors right beneath the one she came through – the entrances to other levels. Sansa was sure that if she opened any on them, she would see long dark corridors, identical to the one on the first level.

The force urged her to go down lower and lower.  
Finally she reached the bottom of the stairs and saw another door, completely different from the ones she had seen. It was small, made of silvery metal and not decorated with beautiful carvings and frescos. As Sansa looked at it she felt a strange, respectful awe. Behind the unsightly little piece of metal lay the oldest of the Stark tombs, some of which were eight thousand years old. A figure that Sansa couldn't even comprehend.  
Obeying her mysterious 'guide' Sansa opened the door and was amazed to feel a whiff of fresh air that suddenly came from the gloom ahead. Intrigued, she tried to step over the edge of the old - world, but an almost overwhelming fear paralyzed her before she could even move. Sansa shrugged as she felt the dark, ghostly spirit of the past slowly surround her. Her presence was an unwelcome disturbance of something very powerful and ancient. She wasn't supposed to go in. Not yet.

She desperately wanted to leave, but she couldn't move. Not while there was still something about this realm of the dead Sansa couldn't quite put her finger on. The girl looked around fearfully. There was nothing remarkable about the dank shabby stone walls or the plain metal door so she decided to try the ghostly blackness of the pristine crypt once more. Again Sansa felt her blood freeze with fear. Suddenly out of the darkness came a deep horrifying rumble, followed by a flash of light so bright it almost burned her eyes… Sansa tried to run, but she still couldn't move. Her eyes, her nose, her ears, her mouth all started to bleed violently as she saw the strange fire melt stone before it finally swallowed her…

Sansa woke up with a start and gazed around frantically, her heart racing, her breath rapid and shallow. She was back in her room, lying on the fur – covered bed with her cloak still on. Calming down slowly, she wiped the cold sweat of her forehead with her hand.  
She must've fallen asleep while waiting for Ramsay. Bran, the crypts, the fire… just dreams, nothing more, she thought as she slowly got up and started to undress, preparing for her husband's visit. And yet she had a strong gut feeling that everything she had seen was somehow real.  
What had Bran told her? A dream, but not a dream? Could it be possible that she had experienced the effect of some kind of magic?!  
To her rational mind the notion was completely ridiculous, but somehow she knew it was true. And everything she had seen was so well branded in her memory, she could recall every little detail of the strange dream – but – not – dream.  
She couldn't even begin to wonder about all the mysterious things her brother had said. The war, blood, her needing to remember something she didn't even know… It was all too strange and confusing…  
But maybe it didn't even matter. Not yet. Maybe all of this would make sense with time.

The only important thing right now, was that whatever happened she had to remember who she was. And be strong for herself, her family and for the North! She was the last Stark of Winterfell, her darling brother had told her. She had no right to crumble into the dirt! And someone was coming to help her, she thought cheerfully. So… maybe it was time to cast aside all the hurt and humiliation and do what Littlefinger had suggested all along… charm her disgusting but clever bastard of a husband… If he could manage to win over people he despised, so could she. Starting right now!

Sansa heard a key turn in the lock and jumped onto the bed, wearing nothing but her smallclothes. She only had a few seconds to decide her strategy as she had seen Littlefinger do several times.  
Sansa knew fairly well by now the things that Ramsay was most sensitive and ambitious about… But which to use first or at all?!

"My lady" – Ramsay smiled his mawkish smile that made Sansa's stomach turn – "Seeing you gives me the greatest pleasure."

"Thank you, my lord" – Sansa replied, putting on an evaluating face – "And I believe I can honestly say that I'm pleased to see you. The conquering hero that defeated Stannis Baratheon, the finest military commander in Westeros with thousands of foreign sell swords and loyal battle – hardened troops at his disposal."

"You flatter me?" – Ramsay asked with a mocking grin – "Are you afraid that I'm angry at losing my toy?"

"I'm flattering you because you've won the respect of the whole of Westeros. You have proven yourself worthy to be Warden of the North by defending it" – Sansa replied with a sly smirk.

She was on extremely unsteady ground and up against a very dangerous opponent. But as Petyr Baelish said, even the most dangerous men can be outmaneuvered. And judging by the smug look on Ramsay's face, she was doing fairly well.

"And most of important of all…"- she continued as she started to play with her hair – "You have proven to the world that wits and courage know no legitimacy. Now… no matter what happens with your stepmother… our people will believe in you. Especially with a Stark at your side."

"Indeed" – Ramsay nodded slightly eyeing Sansa apprehensively.

Her heart jumped up to her throat, but Sansa remembered Bran's words and continued, gathering all her courage.

"And as for toys… What in the world has that got to do with me? Why should I care for the life of a little nobody? Born from nothing and gone into nothing… Why should you?"

"I don't like surprises, my lady" – Ramsay said dangerously.

"Oh, it's a shame" – Sansa smiled and moved her hips apart a little seductively, desperately trying to stop her voice from shaking – "We both know you're smarter than that, my lord… One toy, another toy… what do we care? That's all they are… toys. To be played with and thrown away when they're no longer useful… Aren't they?"

"Perhaps" – Ramsay answered slyly, sitting down on the bed and stroking her foot – "And what do we care about, my lady?"

"Many things, my lord… lemon cakes… hunting… winning against all odds…" - Sansa said, starting to feel a bit more confident and relaxed – "But most of all… power."

"I see" – Ramsay said looking rather satisfied.

"Did I leave anything out my lord?" – Sansa said, pulling the edge of her nightdress up a few inches.

"Well… let me think..." – Ramsay answered with the smug satisfaction of a cat that had just stolen a huge fish and tore Sansa's nightshirt at her breast – "Playing… and pleasure…"

"I knew there was something I forgot" – Sansa giggled and lay back on the furs praying to every god she knew to give her courage and cunning, for Ramsay to take the bait and believe in her sudden change of heart due to his rising in power and for the help that Bran had promised to come as soon as possible.

Next morning Sansa woke up to the sounds of someone fussing about in her room. She jumped up nervously, but relaxed when she saw a new servant girl laying her breakfast. She was rather tall with a doll – like face, young and innocent looking. Sansa had long learnt not to be deceived by appearances, for the most trustworthy looking people turned out to be liars and traitors. Of course she was one of Ramsay's spies, so Sansa had to do her best to seem happy and content. And in any case it was very nice not to be waited on by the hideous and jealous Miranda.

"Who're you?" – Sansa asked sleepily and lay down again, feeling completely battered after a full night of Ramsay pleasing himself. She did her best to seem to enjoy their intercourse, but wasn't sure she had actually managed it. She wasn't even sure if she was supposed to enjoy it.

"Oh! Beg pardon m'lady" – the girl jumped up and curtseyed – "I'm Lina. I'll be your new chambermaid if it please you."

"We shall see if it pleases me" – Sansa replied with a charming happy smile – "Has lord Ramsay been long gone?"

"Why yes, my lady" - the girl answered a bit shyly – "T'was early morning when his lordship left and now it's after midday."

"After midday? Goodness, I have slept in, haven't I?" – Sansa yawned and stretched idly – "So this is my lunch you're laying and not breakfast?"

"Oh, no. T'is breakfast, my lady" – Lina stuttered – "Do you wish me to bring lunch?"

"No, thank you, Lina. Breakfast will do just fine. But you may bring me my robe, it's rather cold in here. And I'm afraid my nightshirt has been… somewhat damaged" – Sansa chuckled and looked at the torn piece of fabric lying on the floor.

"Yes, my lady! Beg pardon, my lady!" – Lina nodded and started fussing about, collecting the destroyed piece of fabric and fetching Sansa a warm robe.

As Sansa sat down to breakfast, she was interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Come in" – she called.

It was one of Ramsay's guards with a massage from her lord and master himself. Ramsay wished his lady to join him on the battlements for the burning of the bodies of fallen enemies in front of the gates of ordered the man to wait outside, finished her breakfast and got dressed as quickly as she could.

She practically ran down into the courtyard and climbed the narrow stone stairs up the wall. She saw Ramsay standing at the edge looking into the distance and thought how wonderful it would be to give him a little push forward. Just a little effort and she would rid the world of a monstrous bastard. Sansa remembered how tempted she was to give Joffrey a similar little push back in King's Landing. She was far more tempted now.

"Girl!" – a familiar deep throaty voice called inside her head, once again bringing her back to her senses just as it had done many times when she was a hostage at King's Landing. How she missed him! Her only true friend who helped and protected her without any thought of profit for himself. How stupid she was to fear and avoid him. And how she wished she had gone with him on the night of the Blackwater. But she'd been such a blind fool…  
Sansa sighed as she felt her heart ache with the desire to see her Hound again. To thank him for everything and tell him that she still kept and cherished his cloak and his handkerchief… Wouldn't it be glorious if he was the one meant to rescue her? Her unhandsome and uncharming non – knight.

Suddenly Ramsay turned around and smiled.

"My lady" – he purred as he came up to her and kissed her cheek.

"Save yourself some pain, girl. Give him what he wants." – Sandor's voice roared in Sansa's ears and disappeared.

"My lord" – she smiled back and leaned into his kiss. She imagined the Hound standing behind her, staring at her with his fierce steel – grey eyes, keeping her safe and all her fear suddenly melted away.

"My beautiful wife" – Ramsay said, placing his hand on Sansa's waist – "Seeing you makes me very happy."

"I am sorry to have kept you waiting" – she replied sweetly – "I'm afraid I overslept."

"No trouble at all" – Ramsay answered rather genially his vile eyes searching her face – "My father and stepmother are not here yet. So we shall have to delight in each other's company and make the best of this moment alone."

"What, right here? On the battlements?" – Sansa chuckled. Sandor would've liked her joke, she thought. And apparently, so did Ramsay. But, happily, their solitude was not to last as the head of the Bolton family appeared on the stronghold wall in the company of his fatter – by – the – day wife. Both Sansa and Ramsay bowed respectfully to the Warden of the North and he acknowledged them with a nod.

Ramsay raised his hand. Sansa looked at the battlefield and saw three huge piles of bodies set to the torch.

"How many were killed?" – she asked, her heart bleeding for the poor, loyal men, who suffered and died in the cold and for their leader, a brilliant and honorable warrior, her father respected.

"About four thousand. Few of them ours" – Ramsay asked looking thoroughly pleased with himself.

"Have you found the body of Stannis Baratheon?" – Roose asked, watching the flames rise.

"My men believe so" – Ramsay answered casually.

"Your men believe?" – Bolton senior mimicked angrily – "I told you to make sure!"

"And I did. We found a body that would match his description. But unfortunately neither I nor anyone else at Winterfell has ever seen the man, so I cannot guarantee anything" – Ramsay said with a touch of displeasure – "But even if he's still alive, what does it matter? He's not dangerous anymore."

"Stannis Baratheon is the kind of man, who remains dangerous even after his death" – Roose snapped – "I hope for your sake, you didn't fail me!"

"Blimey, what a fire!" – Podrick muttered staring at the flames, that rose from the field just outside the castle walls – "I've never seen anything like it."

"Yes" – Brienne nodded as she joined her squire in contemplating the spurts of flame and clouds of dark grey stinking smoke rise to the sky – "It's beautiful in a strange and cruel sort of way".

"There's nothing beautiful about burning the bodies of fallen soldiers" – Stannis snapped – "You'll realize that once you've done it yourself a couple of times if you ever see a siege. Or worse."

"Excuse me?" – Brienne said spitefully – "You're the one who likes to burn men alive as sacrifices to that fire god of yours. Or is it just burning corpses you object to?"  
Stannis closed his eyes and gritted his teeth as a wave of sharp pain and remorse rose in his soul and turned it inside out.

"I. IT" – he replied brokenly through clenched jaws – "I only agreed to it because I believed blood magic would help me do my duty."

"Duty? What kind of duty?" – Brienne hissed – "Was killing your brother part of it?!"

Oh, how I wish it were just my brother, Stannis thought grievously.

"I thought my duty was to become king before the Long Night begins. Because only I could lead the living against the dead" – he answered calmly.

He always believed a man should treat his mistakes and his triumphs the same way, with cold – blooded countenance. A principle that, unfortunately he couldn't always live up to, no matter how much he tried.

"Duty to become king before the Long Night begins?" – Brienne snorted – "And do what? Save the realm from the snarks, white walkers and other mythical creatures out of your grandmother's fairytales? That is the most charming and endearing excuse for power lust that I have ever heard."

"Don't you dare compare me to the likes of your beloved Renly and the Lannisters" – Stannis said acidly – "I never wanted power any more than I wanted to be born a lord of the Storm Lands. But I am who I am."

"And Renly was the rightful king!" - cried Brienne as she remembered the shadow – assassin stabbing the man she loved.

"Why?! Why was he the rightful king?!" – bellowed Stannis, losing his temper – "He had no legitimate claim and just like Robert, he wouldn't have given a damn if the whole of Westeros crumbled to dust as long as he could spend his days having fun and wearing a pretty gold crown! Neither of them understood that the piece of gold on their heads wasn't a carte blanche to do whatever they liked, and in fact meant huge responsibility. But unlike Robert Renly never fought or sacrificed anything for it! All he ever did in his life was dance, smile, dress up and fuck his squires, starting with Loras Tyrell and that makes him the rightful king in your eyes, does it?!"

"How dare you?!" – Brienne shrieked drawing her sword.

"How dare I what? Tell the truth?" – Stannis smirked bitterly – "Very well. You claim to be righteous and principled, so prove me wrong. Name one rational reason why Renly deserved to be king."

Brienne stood seething with rage, her sword out of its scabbard ready to defend her beloved king's honor. She could've killed Stannis in a heartbeat, vow or no vow, but that would be admitting he was right about everything he said. And she could never do that. So instead, Brienne was racking her brain to prove him wrong. But somehow, she couldn't think of anything, except that Renly was sweet and kind and she was devoted to him.

"Just one, that shouldn't be too difficult" – Stannis taunted – "One reason that doesn't involve being nice and pretty and I'll admit defeat."

Brienne huffed and looked down at her feet. She hated those mocking deep blue eyes that seemed to be woven from steel and intellect. Oh, why wasn't she as smart? Why couldn't she beat him in a battle of wits as she could do in single combat?

"What, nothing at all?" – Stannis asked in mock surprise.

"He was kind and gentle and good!" – Brienne replied, hating herself and Stannis for making her feel so stupid – "And that's good enough for me."

"Fools love a fool, I understand that" – Stannis said with sort of ironic, condescending kindness – "But that doesn't make it right, I'm afraid."

Brienne shoved her sword back in the scabbard and turned away to look at the fire that was already so huge , it could reach up to half the height of the walls of the castle

"If you please, my lord" – Podrick murmured unexpectedly – "I know it's not my place to argue, but if I might be so bold as to…"

"Out with it, lad!" – Stannis said, suddenly looking interested.

"Well… lord Tyrion told me lord Renly wasn't a very good master of laws, but he did sit on the Small Council…"

"Exactly!" – Brienne exclaimed, looking hopeful once more.

"For two years." – Stannis nodded – "Jon Arryn's idea. Thought it might help him settle down and take life a little more seriously."

"But it didn't?" – Pod asked.

"No it did, to some extent. Just a little more than becoming king did Robert, but still…"

"What about the Lannisters?" – Pod asked with enthusiasm, growing bolder by the second.

"Tywin Lannister was a great man" – answered Stannis, who suddenly looked like he was actually enjoying discussing politics with a squire – "A talented general and one of greatest Hands in history. Brilliant, cunning, devious, completely ruthless and very loyal. Definitely worth following. For his wits and sense of responsibility if nothing else. Squired for Tyrion Lannister, have you?"

"Yes, my lord" – Pod said a bit meekly. He wasn't sure how Stannis might react to that piece of information.

"Never met the man, but since his father trusted him to be his acting Hand must've been very clever" – Stannis replied without a trace of outward displeasure.

"Beat you at the Blackwater, didn't he?" – Birenne asked a bit meanly.

"No, he didn't. His father did. If Tywin hadn't arrived with the Tyrells King's Landing would've been mine by dawn." – Stannis answered and turned his attention back to Podrick – "Educated you in Westerosi politics, did he?"

"Yes, my lord" – Pod smiled a bit shyly – "Well… a little… He was very good to me. "

"What use does a squire have for politics?" – Brienne grumbled.

She felt like an idiot being jealous of Tyrion Lannister, but she just couldn't help it. She grew to really like Pod and did her best to educate and care for him. And wasn't at all pleased with being a second best master.

"The same he has for his brain. Not that you would know" – replied Stannis with a twitch of his lips.

Brienne didn't deign to answer and turned away to look at the bonfire again.

"Who gave you that valyrian sword, by the way?" – Stannis asked laughing inwardly at the sulking girl, that looked more like an overgrown child than ever.

"It was a present from ser Jaime" – Brienne answered reluctantly.

"A present? What for?"

"Just a present"

"Lannister's don't just give presents" – Stannis replied, looking at her searchingly.

"Well, ser Jaime did!" – Brienne snapped – "He's a kind and generous man. Not that you'd understand that!"

"Whatever" – Stannis huffed, smiling inwardly – "Anyway, relevant part… Since Sansa Stark knows both you and the lad to be servants of the Lannisters, I'll have to go after her alone."

"His name is Podrick" – Brienne grumbled – "And I don't' see why I should trust you with her."

"Because she won't come if she sees us first" – Pod replied before Stannis even opened his mouth – "She didn't trust you at the tavern because of the sword and because of me."

"I see Lannister's time wasn't wasted on you, lad" – Stannis said approvingly, making Podrick go red with pride - "She's never met me and she won't believe I'm her father's friend and come with me if she sees you."

"So, I'll fail if I go in alone and you won't?" – Brienne snorted.

"I've been on scouting missions behind enemy lines far more often than you" – Stannis replied with a slight snort. Brienne inhaled to reply, but stopped before even beginning… was he really laughing at her?!

"But I'm afraid even I need all the help I can get" – he continued seriously – "I'll find Sansa Stark while you two set fire everywhere you can reach, especially between the walls, the great hall and the stables. We'll meet at the crypts."

"Oh, so if she sees us in the crypts, she'll know you're completely trustworthy?" – Brienne asked stubbornly.

"Podrick, be a good lad and explain it to her, while I draw a map of the secret passages" – Stannis sighed rolling his eyes and started drawing lines in the snow with his sword.

"By the time she sees us in the crypts it'll be too late to refuse to go with us and start an alarm" – Podrick mumbled looking a bit reproachfully at his mistress.

"Oh and you'll have to describe the Stark girl to me, lad" – Stannis added.

By nightfall the great hall of Winnterfell was brightly lit up by thousands of candles, the tables were richly layed for a great feast and almost all the Bolton men were drunk with excitement and ale. Songs were sung and stories told. Everyone was happy and keen to share true and invented tales of their bravery on the battlefield with the company and no one seemed to mind even obviously ridiculous lies.

Sansa sat at the family table next to Ramsay trying her best to be as charming and cheerful as possible. She chatted enthusiastically with fat Walda, who turned out to be a rather nice and funny girl on closer acquaintance and didn't mind an already drunk Ramsay stroking her back and her hip lustfully, while deep in conversation with his father. Even the always sober head of the family seemed relaxed and enjoying his laurels, that reallybelonged to Ramsay. A fact that the later was too smart to complain about.

"The wine is exquisite isn't it?" – fat Walda smiled at Sansa – "I wish I could have a taste, but the maester said I really shouldn't."

"Don't let that spoil the evening" – Sansa smiled and toasted her – "After your baby is born you'll be able to eat and drink whatever you like."

"I'm afraid not" – Walda replied rather sadly – "I'm going to have to be on a special diet when breastfeeding"

Might do you good to get some of that fat off, Sansa thought to herself.

"So will you, when you have your children" – Walda added cheerfully – "I hope that will be soon."

"Yes" – Sansa smiled, her blood freezing at the sheer thought of having Ramsay's spawn squirming inside her – "But I hope I won't be required to give up lemon cakes. I simply can't live without lemon cakes!"

"Yes, they're most delicious aren't they?" – Walds nodded – "It was always a very special treat for us at my father's house."

"It was the same here" – Sansa replied willing herself not to sound bitter – "D'you know my little brother Bran and I stole them once?"

"No!" – Walda laughed staring wide – eyed.

"Oh yes we did! We snuck to the pantry in the middle of the night. Brought them to my room and ate them with some wine Bran stole form father's stash. He wanted to find out what it tasted like" – Sansa giggled her heart warmed by the memory of her darling brother.

"And you weren't caught?"

"No, but we were found out and punished."

"Yes, that's what happens when you're being naughty" – Ramsay suddenly joined in their conversation – "And it seems you like being naughty, my dear wife…"

"If lemon cakes are the prize, certainly" – Sansa chuckled.

"Something sweeter perhaps?" – Ramsay purred, squeezing her hip.

"And what might that be?" – Sansa whispered in his ear seductively.

"Power and pleasure" – Ramsay answered, quoting their earlier conversation – "Isn't that what smart and rational people love most?"

"Of course" – Sansa answered swallowing back down her food that seemed to have lost the way to her stomach.

"Father, mother, pray excuse us. Lady Sansa is feeling a bit tired" – Ramsay said with a broad smile as he got up from the table and held Sansa's chair for her as she joined him.

"Of course" – Roose nodded politely – "Enjoy your evening."

"Thank you my lord" – Sansa nodded back and smiled at Walda who winked at her.

Then she took Ramsay's arm and accompanied him out of the great hall to the cheers and whistles of the drunk knights. Ramsay shifted his arm to her hip as they walked along the dark corridors.

Dark and deserted corridors, Sansa remarked. It was strange to see the usually well-guarded Winterfell so empty.

The Boltons must be very sure of themselves, she thought. On the other hand… why wouldn't they be?!

Suddenly Ramsay stopped and pulled her into his embrace.

"I'm sorry, my lady, but I completely forgot your friend, my faithful servant Reek!" – he whispered in a voice so silky it made the hairs on the back of Sansa's head stand on end – "We mustn't let him miss out on the fun, must we?"

"I couldn't care laee what the creature misses out on" – Sansa answered contemptuously – "Not anymore anyway"

"I thought you two had developed a friendship…" - Ramsay asked testily, a small doubt about Sansa's chance of heart still nagging at the back of his head.

"My lord asks me to associate myself with a useless servant?!" – Sansa said, wrinkling her nose in disgust – "That isn't very flattering, don't you think? I don't feel like seeing him. Prey, go without me. I believe I know the way to my chamber."

"Very well!" – Ramsay purred and kissed her neck – "I shan't be long."

He was indeed very happy to discover the sudden change in his wife's behavior and the fact that she was a rational woman after all. Of course her conduct towards him for the last two months didn't please him at all, but he could understand why a little goal digger like her wouldn't be happy about marrying a bastard with no prospects. With no prospects until the battle of Winterfell, as she had smartly guessed it. But now everything would be different. And the fact that she turned out to be a smart and ambitious girl was a very nice surprise. One well worth giving up Miranda. And anyway his wife was right… he was a rightfull lord now! What did he care for toys?

Sansa walked slowly down the corridor that led to her chamber. She was glad to be finally rid of Ramsay's company even for a little while. And as much as she hated to admit it, she was glad to get out of her room and spend an evening at the feast with people all around her, even if they were her enemies and the food turned to ash in her mouth. Her situation had changed drastically overnight and she was cursing herself for being so weak and stupid for so long. Had she won Ramsay over right away perhaps she might've been able to do something for her brothers or the people of the north or Stannis or even Theon. But there was no use feeling sorry for something it was too late to change as the Hound once told her, so Sansa promised herself to be strong and smart whatever the cost. And to imagine Sandor by her side every time she was with Ramsay.

When she finally reached the door of her chamber she was stopped by a quiet scratching sound. At first she thought it to be nothing, but then she heard someone move quietly around the corner. Trying to walk as softly as she possibly could, Sansa tiptoed to see what was going on. Suddenly she felt somebody's strong arms grab her by the waist, clamp her mouth and pull her into the darkness of the corridor that crossed hers.  
She battled and tried to scream, but then she saw bodies of two bolton guards lying on the floor with slit throats.

"Lady Stark" - whispered an unknown voice – "Please don't scream, I'm here to help you".

Sansa nodded as her heart leapt with joy.  
Immediately he let her go and she turned around to see who her saviour was. She couldn't see too well in the darkness, but there was no mistaking the man in front of her. He vaguely resembled both his brothers, whom Sansa had seen many times. He was tall and broad – shouldered like king Robert, but much thinner. Blue – eyed and finely – cut and like lord Renly, but much stronger. He was wearing no armor, just a simple northern vest and a leathery jacket as most Bolton soldiers did. His sword at his side and a dagger in his belt.

"Your grace!" – she said as quietly as she could.


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you very much for your wonderful comments everyone! I'm very pleased and flattered you like my story and hope you enjoy the next chapter))

* * *

"You know me?" – Stannis whispered taken aback.

"Of course. My father told me about the wars he fought by your and your brother's side and I've met both king Robert and lord Renly. I'm so glad you're alive! The prisoners told Ramsay you were dead." – Sansa said happily – "But how did you…"

"Through the secret passage under the south wall. Jon Snow told me about it. Come, I'll take you to safety."

"But your grace, the Boltons…" – Sansa whispered.

"Most of them are shut in at the great hall" – Stannis replied reassuringly – "My friends have bared the door from the outside and are setting the whole castle on fire as we speak. It won't take long for the lot of them to choke on death from the smoke. And even if someone does realize what's going on in time and manages to save them they'll be too busy with the fire to come after us for several hours. Time enough for us to make it to safety."

"Ramsay isn't in the great hall, he's gone to… Oh, gods! Theon!"

"My lady, time is wasting" – Stannis said, grabbing her by the hand.

"No, I can't leave. Not yet."

"It has to be now, my lady!"

"Please, your grace" – Sansa begged – "I can't go without Theon. I can't leave him here."

"Theon Greyjoy?" – Stannis asked surprised.

"Yes, your grace! I know he's a traitor, but he's paid dearly for whatever crimes he may have committed. And he's the only one who might know where my brothers are."

"Your brothers are alive?" – Stannis said baffled.

If this was true, the Starks' part in the war for the North was far from over.

"I don't know, I'm afraid" – Sansa sighed worriedly – "They managed to escape Winterfell when Theon sacked it, but no one has seen them since. And I couldn't possibly say anything to the Boltons, so…"

"No, of course not. Good girl" – Stannis nodded approvingly – "If they're still alive I'll find them, I swear. Where's Greyjoy?"

"In the dungeons" – Sansa shrugged involuntarily – "Ramsay is torturing him."

"The dungeons are probably well-guarded, it's very risky."

"Not for me" – Sansa said with a sly smile – "I'll go down pretending to look for my husband and when I find him I'll slit his throat and free Theon. I can't leave him to die a horrible death. And not just him, your soldiers as well…"

Stannis eyed her apprehensively. True, it would be good to have Greyjoy with them as a leverage against Balon and he had to free his men if he possibly could. And it would certainly be an advantage if they could manage to kill some of the bolton guards as well as the bastard. But could the girl pull it off?

"Please, your grace. Trust me!" – Sansa pleaded, looking intently into his fiery piercing eyes.

"Very well" - Stannis sighed heavily, but rather pleased to see the Stark spirit in this pretty little slip of a girl.

"Thank you your grace" – Sansa replied happily.

"Here, take this and hide it" – Stannis said, handing her his dagger – "Tie it to your leg".

He ripped off two pieces of cloth from his shirt, handed them to Sansa and looked the other way when she did as she was bid.

"There's a short cut from here to the dungeons." – Sansa said, smoothing out her dress – "Follow me."

Moving quickly and quietly, Sansa and Stannis ran through dark narrow corridors. Sansa's knowledge of all the little paths, nooks and crannies enabled them to hide from the few half – dunk servants that walked around the keep, long enough for Stannis to surprise attack and kill them before they could even take a breath to scream.

Soon they reached the entrance to the dungeons without a single soul being aware of their presence. The door was guarded by two men, who were chatting with each other and clearly not paying much attention to the corridors.

"How many guards are there in the dungeons?" – Stannis asked quietly, peeking around the corner.

"I don't know, I'm afraid" – Sansa answered feeling a little guilty.

"Right. Listen to me and do exactly as I say" – Stannis whispered all his senses sharp and alert as any experienced warrior's would be – "You'll go first and ask the guards for directions to Greyjoy's sell. Once they tell you, be sure to repeat them one more time as loudly as you can without raising suspicion. Then go ahead and try to kill Bolton. Whatever you do, don't hurry and try to look relaxed. I'll follow you as closely as I possibly can. If you should fail to kill the bastard or get into any kind of trouble, call me straight away. Do you understand?"

"Yes, your grace" – Sansa nodded, gathering all her courage.  
This shouldn't be too difficult, especially with lord Stannis watching her back… Then she thought of her family and of the Hound. She would die for her dear family if she had to and her friend could guide her through anything even if only in her mind.  
Sansa thought for a moment of what could be the best way to get past the guards and suddenly remembered something queen Cersei had told her when King's Landing was under siege. "Tears aren't a woman's only weapon. The best one's between your legs. Learn how to use it…"  
Well, if there was ever a time she really needed a secret weapon, it was now.

Sansa let her hair down from the tight southern hairstyle she wore to the feast and loosened the top three loops of string that tied the front of her dress, revealing a little bit of the pale tender skin of her full breasts.

Although more than a little impressed by the young girl's wits and courage, Stannis was surprised to see a Stark use the definitely best but also the less honorable way of getting what she wanted.  
Lannister influence, no doubt, Stannis said to himself.  
He never thought he would ever regard 'Lannister influence' on anybody as 'good', but as they say… Never say never… Her father would spin in his grave if he knew though… Not that Stannis himself approved of such an exhibition, but unlike poor Ned Stark he understood the necessity of foul play, especially when dealing with vile and smart enemies.

"Go now!" – Stannis said, willing his eyes to stay on the target and not drift down to where they really shouldn't.

Sansa walked slowly round the corner and approached the guards who stood to attention as soon as they saw her.

"Good evening, gentlemen" – she said graciously, smiling her most charming smile – "I'm in search of my husband and was told I might find him here."

"Yes, my lady. Lord Ramsay has just gone down" – replied one of the guards, trying not to stare too obviously at the beautiful young woman.

"Good. Would you be so kind as to direct me to him? I've no particular desire to wander around the cold dungeons".

"Beg pardon, m'lady. But it's really not appropriate for you to go down there and see the scum that's locked up" – the other guard said – "May we go down for you…"

"No you may not" – Sansa interrupted playfully, tossing her glorious ginger hair – "I want to surprise lord Ramsay myself."

"As you wish m'lady" – the guard sighed talking to Sansa's breasts rather than her face – "Go down the staircase and turn right. You'll see a long corridor. Walk to the end and turn right again. The cell you're looking for is the last one in that passageway. "

"Down the stairs, turn right, end of corridor, then right again and end of corridor again" – Sansa repeated loudly – "Doesn't sound too hard to find"

"Really my lady, at least let one of us escort you."

"Don't you two have a door to guard?" – Sansa giggled – "It seems so unfair for everyone to be sitting in the great hall enjoying the feast, while you two are stuck down here, watching over a bunch of criminals, that can't run away anyway."

"It's not our place to complain about our duty, my lady" – the first guard sighed.

"Of course it isn't. But still… It's not fair… I'll tell the cook to save you a barrel of brown ale and a pile of grilled pork bones as a reward for your stoutness, how about that?"

"Your ladyship is most kind" – both guards answered almost simultaneously, their mouths already watering.

"But I expect you two aren't the only ones to be stuck down here all night?"

"No, my lady. There's Bert the jailor and the lads on patrol. Four of 'em"

"All right so that's a meal for seven brave soldiers" – Sansa nodded and Stannis, who was hanging on every word almost shouted "Bravo!" to her gumption.

"Well then, I'll be on my way if you'd be kind enough to open the door for me" – Sansa said cheerfully.

"Of course, m'lady" – replied the guards as they hurried to oblige.

"Thank you so much."

"You're sure about that escort m'lady?" – the second guard asked again – "I'm sure lord Ramsay won't mind one of us leaving our post to take his wife to him."

"Oh, I'm afraid he would…" – Sansa purred, throwing the men a couple of smoldering glances – "Have either of you ever made love in a cell?"

"Errr… no my lady" – the guards answered blushing to the tips of their ears.

"Neither have I" – Sansa smiled, biting her lower lip – "But I'm going to! So unless you two are brave enough to come and watch my husband and me being consumed by passion, you'd better stay out here."

Stannis was extremely glad to be alone in the dark at this point as he was thoroughly embarrassed by Sansa's language, but also very proud of the young lady Stark, who seemed almost too smart for the name she bore.

"Yes my lady! Beg pardon my lady! Of course my lady!" – the guards stuttered their fantasies already running wild.

"Bye then" – Sansa said and floated gracefully through the door, the guards staring after her like two dogs marveling lustfully at a mountain of bones.

Slickly and swiftly Stannis crossed the floor from his hiding place and with two graceful and precise strokes of his sword sent the young men who were still staring at Sansa's shadow through the open door to meet their ancestors without a single sound. Then he slipped into the dungeons and quickly dragged the bodies inside. Luckily there were no guards at the other side of the entrance.  
They had to move fast as there was no knowing if his two rather inept, but willful companions would manage to lock the Boltons in and set the castle ablaze or when the guards' absence would be noticed.

For a long moment Stannis stood at the top of the stairs, gazing intently into the shadows of the poorly lit maze of long and deserted dungeon corridors, trying to detect any sign of the patrol guards or the jailor. With any luck, most of them would be in their quarters, but there was bound to be a couple somewhere near Greyjoy's sell in case their bastard master should need them… which did present certain problems, but… when had he ever had it easy?

Stannis crept down the stairs and ran to the right, trying to keep quiet and hoping none of the prisoners would alert the guard to his presence. As he reached the end of the passage way, he heard a rather deep voice asking what in the world lady Sansa was doing down here. The question was immediately followed by a quick conversation similar to the one at the entrance.  
Soon Sansa was free to continue her journey and Stannis stood silently, pressed against the wall and listened intently to the approaching heavy steps of the guard she had sent his way. There were only two of them and judging by their relaxed pace, they weren't expecting an ambush.

Sansa shivered with cold and fear as she walked along the damp passageway, passing numerous cells, where Stannis's men were kept. Most of them were unconscious or asleep, and those that weren't stared at her through the narrow barred windows with desperate and hateful curiosity. Sansa's heart went out to them and she wished dearly she could tell each and every one not to lose hope as, Gods be good, they would soon be free. But she didn't dare come near them in case she should be seen.

As she approached her destination, Sansa heard Ramsay's quiet voice mixed with Theon's whimpering. Goodness, what was the monster doing to him?! Did he decide to start hurting Theon physically again? Or was it really just words that extracted such agonized groans?!  
Sansa stopped for a moment to check on her dagger before she dared to take the last steps. Her heart beat so hard and fast it seemed like it could jump out of her chest at any moment. This short distance between her and the cell was almost like a field where she fought the real battle for her courage and freedom. She could still turn back and leave the fighting to Stannis if she wanted to. But to go on and take those steps would be the only way to prove herself worthy of her name and her family.

Once again she heard the Hound's voice in her head: "All right now, little bird. You're all right."  
"Yes, my dear friend, as long as you're with me" – she answered silently – "And I'm not a bird. I'm a she – wolf! And a she - wolf doesn't need courage to rip the throat out of a mongrel dog!"  
She would never turn back! She would go on and take those steps. And whatever happens afterword is nothing!

Sansa took a deep breath, tossed her exquisite ginger locks and went on with her loveliest smile on her face. As she entered the cell, she saw Theon tied to a wooden saltire his head hanging down limply and Ramsay standing beside him, whispering something vile into his victim's ear.

"My lord" – Sansa called gaily.

Ramsay looked up surprised but smiled rather happily. He was still drunk and his blood was racing from wine, lust and anticipation of sadistic pleasure. Theon on the other hand stared at her in absolute horror.

"Please forgive my unannounced visit, but I've changed my mind about seeing the creature Reek before we… retire for the night" – Sansa said maidenly – "I hope I haven't interrupted anything important."

"I'm afraid you have, my lady" – Ramsay answered silkily – "But it doesn't mean the interruption is unwelcome. Look, Reek. You have a visitor. Is there something you wish to say to him, my lady?"

"Yes, there is. I do not wish to be the only one to remember my dead family tonight. After all, Reek was the one who betrayed them and murdered my brothers. It is his fault and nobody else's that they're lying cold in the ground" – Sansa answered with notes of cold hard steel in her soft gentle voice – "You rescued the North from his evil, my lord, but the guilty still deserve punishment, don't you think?"

"Yes, my sweet lady" – Ramsay purred, his eyes lighting up with sadistic pleasure as Theon began to cry quietly – "Would it please you to punish him right now?"

Sansa could see clearly his passion was already aroused. Moving languidly and gracefully, she came close to him. As close as she possibly could.

"If you so wish, my lord" – she said in a low voice, gently stroking his chest, slowly moving her hand down to his waist and after that even lower. She heard him gasp involuntarily as her fingers touched his manhood and removed them immediately.

"Or perhaps we ought to begin with something even more delightful" – she purred and walked towards a table that stood in the corner of the cell. Ramsay stared at her, his eyes wild with lust as she sat on it her legs spread widely apart – one still on the floor and the other bent, close to her chest and completely covered with her skirt.

As the guard's steps drew near, Stannis stopped breathing and raised his sword. Like a pouncing predator he sprang at the guard as soon as they turned the corner and killed one of them instantly. But the other was quick enough to draw his sword and scream for help. The guard tried to put up a fight, but his armor slowed movement significantly making him no match for his dexterous, swift, unarmored opponent. In a few seconds he was lying on the floor next to his companion, blood pouring out of their necks.  
Stannis cursed under his breath and ran ahead, hoping against hope their skirmish might go unnoticed. Sansa was nowhere to be seen. In all likelihood she was already in the Greyjoy's cell with the Bolton bastard. Once he was dead they would find Stannis's men and…  
All of a sudden Stannis practically jumped with fright as he heard the familiar voices of ser Richard Horpe and ser Ormund Wylde cry

"Your grace!"

In a split second several others stirred and rushed to the barred windows of their cells, shouting happily.  
Well, at least there was no need to look for his men anymore…

"Be quiet, you idiots!" – Stannis snapped and cursed under his breath again as he heard the rest of the guard shouting and running his way. The good news being there were only two of them, three at best.

"Well, my lord? What is your will?" – Sansa asked seductively, slowly moving her hand under the fabric of her dress to feel the hilt of the dagger.  
"You'll have to wait for your punishment, Reek" – Ramsay said, smiling drunkenly and gleefully at Theon who was too shocked to do anything except feebly nod his agreement. Then he came over to Sansa and kissed her trying to caress her legs, but Sansa's hand quickly guided his up to her breasts, safely away from the dagger she was clutching firmly. Her whole body tightened like a string with anticipation and readiness to try and deliver the fatal blow.

Suddenly they heard raised voices.

"What's that?" – Sansa asked alarmed, pulling away.

"Oh nothing to worry about, my lady. Some of the scum must've quarreled over a couple or rotten carrots" – Ramsay hissed, displeased about their ruined mood.

"Jailor!" – he called, turning away from his wife for a moment.  
The next thing he knew was a flash of silver light in the semi – darkness of the cell and a sharp, stabbing pain in his neck. At first unable to grasp what had happened, he fell to his knees, suffocating and clutching his hand to the wound on his throat.  
Suddenly Ramsay felt a powerful kick to his chest and fell back, hot blood jerking from his neck. He was losing consciousness fast. He croaked as he heard cries and clashing of iron outside the cell and Sansa's voice of soft steel saying "The North remembers!"

And nothing more. Everything went black and quiet and cold. Ramsay was dead.

Theon stared completely bewildered as Sansa got up from the table, pulled the dagger out of Ramsay's corpse and wiped the blood on his vest.

"I'm glad you agreed the guilty deserve punishment, dearest husband" – Sansa said with a cruel and satisfied smile on her face – "I think I've done my family justice tonight, don't you?"

Theon stirred and whimpered as Sansa came up to him and raised her dagger.  
Was she going to kill him too? He didn't want to die yet! As much as he didn't want to live, he was too scared to face the dark abyss of the other side.

"Please" – he groaned quietly, twitching on his saltire.

"Stay still' – Sansa commanded and one by one cut the ropes that tied him.

Too week to stand, Theon fell to the stone floor and wept as he curled up in a ball.  
She didn't kill him! She was trying to save him instead.

"Get up, Theon" – Sansa said firmly, kneeling beside him and trying to pull him to his feet – "You must get up and run. Get up right now!"

Theon looked up at his adopted sister's stern, beautiful face and nodded. If this sweet and brave young girl believed his life as Theon Greyjoy wasn't over and deemed saving him worth risking her own, what could he do, except everything in his power to not disappoint her again?

Both jumped with fright as the door of the cell swung open and Stannis rushed in. He threw a quick glance around the room and knelt beside Sansa.

"Are you all right my lady?" – he asked looking her over, searching for any sigh of injury.

"Yes, your grace" – Sansa smiled with a cruel happiness as she looked at Ramsay's body – "Better than I've been it months, in fact."

"You did very well, my dear" – Stannis nodded approvingly and Sansa felt her chest swell up with pride at his praise.

"Greyjoy!" –Stannis snapped as he looked down at poor Theon who shrunk into a quivering mess at the mere sound of his deep, sharp, commanding voice – "Can you walk?"  
Theon didn't answer. He only stared meekly at the warrior he didn't know and Sansa who sat beside him. Stannis hissed malevolently and pulled a small bottle of "Milk of the poppy" from his breast pocket. He drank half of it as he began to feel the sharp pain in his wounds again and shoved the rest into Sansa's hands.

"Here, make him drink it" – Stannis said urgently – "We've got company, I'm afraid…"

With that he stood up, leaning on his sword and limped out just in time to meet the jailor and guards at the door. Stannis had the advantage of surprise, but the pain in his leg reduced movement greatly, which would've been bad enough even if his enemies were armored. But like Stannis himself, they were wearing nothing but leathery northern jackets and could move just as quickly. No doubt they were indeed resting in their quarters when they heard their friend's cry for help and had no time to dress.  
Stannis attacked and killed the jailor with the first blow, but was thrown back immediately by the guards who pressed him fiercely, sensing his weakness.

"Blast it!" – was all Stannis could think before he forgot everything except the deadly web of his opponents' thrashing blades. After what seemed to him like an eternity of fending off blows in two directions, Stannis finally managed to break through and stab one of the guards between the eyes. Suddenly the door of the cell was flung open and a dagger swished past his enemy and hit the opposite wall. It could only have been Sansa's attempt at helping him. But the next thing he saw was Greyjoy jumping out into the corridor with Ramsay's sword in his hand. Stannis was too concentrated on the duel to be surprised, but the guard was thrown totally off balance and soon broke into a run.  
Stannis put his sword back in the scabbard, picked up the dagger and landed it in the runaway's heart with one mighty throw. The whole dungeon was immediately filled with cheers from his men, who were watching the fight holding their breath.

"Lady Sansa, would you be so kind as to set these fools free. I believe you'll find the keys tied to the jailor's belt" – Stannis groaned, clutching his hand to the wound on his hip and deciding he was too tired to try and calm his men down.

"You're wounded, your grace? " – Sansa asked worriedly, kneeling down to examine his leg.

"Just a flesh wound, nothing serious" – Stannis answered casually, suddenly feeling flattered by the girl's genuine concern for him – "It'll be fine. But we really have to hurry, my lady."

"Of course" – Sansa nodded, and set to work quickly with Theon helping her.

Soon all the doors were opened and twenty of Stannis's men stumbled out of their cells happily thanking and swearing eternal loyalty to their king. Stannis nodded his acknowledgement and ordered them to remain silent on pain of death as he led the whole party out of the dungeons.

When they opened the doors to the keep, the whole place was in total chaos. There was smoke everywhere, people were screaming and running around with buckets of water and melting snow.  
"About damn time!" – Stannis grumbled quietly as he covered his nose and mouth with his hand. Obviously Brienne and Pod had managed to set Winterfell on fire, which was something, but they had failed to accomplish the main part of the plan and lock the Boltons in the great hall. Not the scenario Stannis was hoping for, but it would have to do.

"To the crypts. Run." – he whispered to Sansa and gestured his men to follow – "With all the commotion we might just make it."

"We've already made it. It's the main entrance, that's on the other side of the castle, the service entrance is right there" - Sansa answered with a smile, pointing at a small door down the corridor about thirty paces away.

"Good. Lead on then" – Stannis said and gave Sansa a light push when he felt it was safest to run across the hall. She and Theon made it successfully and slipped through the little door. Stannis's men followed them closely. The last ones to enter the crypts and lock the door were ser Ormund and Stannis himself.

"Where to now, your grace?" – Wylde asked panting.

"The main entrance. We'll wait for… my companions as long as we can and then get out through the passage under the south wall" – Stannis answered – "Greyjoy, lead on. I need a word with lady Sansa in private"

"Yes, your grace" – Theon mumbled and walked ahead, Stannis's men following him and throwing intrigued glances at the beautiful lady and their leader.

"Your grace?" – Sansa whispered a bit worriedly when the soldiers were well away.

"I have to tell you that you're acquainted with the people who helped me get it. And I'm afraid that experience has been rather unpleasant for both of us" – Stannis frowned – "But I swear to you on my life, they are completely trustworthy. Young and foolish perhaps, but not at all false or devious."

"Who do you mean, your grace?"

"Brienne of Tarth and young Podrick Payne, your first husband's squire" – Stannis sighed as she watched Sansa raise her eyebrows – "Yes, they used to work for the Lannisters and you were correct to mistrust them when you met at the tavern… and yes I know about that… but Brienne is guilty only of being stupid and nothing else"

"I'm rather sorry I didn't trust her, to be quite honest" – replied Sansa with a crooked smile – "But I was foolish enough to think Littlefinger cared for me and she did say something ridiculous about a shadow killing lord Renly, so…"  
"It wasn't ridiculous I'm afraid" – Stannis said with reluctant honesty – "It truly was bloodmagic that killed my traitor of a brother. Bloodmagic performed on my command, so I'm the one responsible for his death."

For a moment Sansa stared in shock at the man, standing before her. By all accounts Stannis Baratheon was honest and honorable, a man titled hero in all the seven kingdoms, earned and proven. And yet, here he was, confessing freely to something so horrible and underhand as kinslaying by bloodmagic. Sansa didn't know what to say at first as she remembered her dear father's words about his old comrade, words she had no reason to mistrust. But then her first husband's … or was it former… or present?... words sprang to mind. Tyrion had told her many times that his father lord Tywin had always regarded lord Stannis as the greatest threat to the Iron throne, far more dangerous then all others combined. And Sansa realized that the truth about Stannis in fact probably lay in middle ground, as was often the way with truth. He may be as honest and honorable as her father described when it came to honest and honorable men like Eddard Stark, but treated vile and cruel people like the Lannisters, Boltons and Littlefinger accordingly. Which was probably the wisest thing to do. And his brother did betray him by claiming a crown he had no legal or moral right to.

"You're being honest with me your grace" – Sansa said finally deciding her opinion on the matter – "Permit me to pay you the same curtsey"

"I wish you would, my lady" – Stannis replied with outward calm, but inwardly tensing with nervous anticipation.

"I cannot possibly approve of an act of kinslaying. It goes against all laws of the world, old and new, but so does treason. Especially treason between brothers. Lord Renly had no legal or moral claim to your crown, but he willingly and knowingly betrayed you, so he was treated accordingly. I understand and fully condone that." – Sansa said firmly and smiled with the corners of her mouth as she thought she detected a flicker of relief in his eyes. – " I swear I shall never forget my father's loyalty to you and will match it with my own. I swear it on my life here and now, before all my ancestors, first of which walked this earth more than eight thousand years ago"

"Thank you, my lady" – Stannis nodded, deeply touched by the young lady Starks's words. He could see she was being honest and her vow to him was as genuine as her love and respect for her family.

"And I cannot help but wish my father were wise enough to give people back as good as thy gave" – Sansa continued with a sigh – "I know it's not right for a daughter to judge her father's actions, especially one she loved as much as I did my father, but still… If he were more like you, much would've been different. All of my dear family would still be alive and he would've been beside you when you sat on the throne"

"Indeed" – Stannis nodded, marveling at Sansa's cunning intelligence, which wasn't at all typical for a Stark if he was being absolutely honest – "But I'm afraid we must get going. There'll be time for this conversation later if we ever get out of here"

Sansa smiled and nodded. They walked quickly towards the main entrance, where Stannis's men were waiting for them, watching curiously out if the corners of their eyes. There was no doubt, they had realized by now who she Sansa was and she wondered what they all thought of her. Especially lord Stannis…  
As they approached the main gate, it suddenly opened with a loud thud and young Podrick came tumbling in followed closely by Brienne and a bunch of Bolton soldiers. She managed to slip in and slam the gate shut right in the face of her persecutors. She bolted the door in the nick of time. Brienne jumped startled when she saw Stannin's men staring at her, but relaxed, when she heard Stannis's voice.

"About time" – he grumbled teasingly – "Where in the seventh hell have you been?"

"Wh… What do you mean, where have we been?!" – Brienne cried outraged – "Setting the blasted castle on fire on your orders, that's where! And in case you haven't noticed the Boltons weren't exactly pleased to find us burning their keep and their whole force is currently on our tail!"

"Hear that?!" – she added as a loud thud of the gates being smashed with a ram echoed through the crypts.

"How dare you address his grace in that tone, woman?!" – ser Richard snapped – "If indeed you are a woman…"

"It's all right, ser Richard" – Stannis said graciously – "This is Brienne of Tarth, the warrior who saved my life. But I'm afraid she's a bit impetuous…"

"A bit?" – asked Podrick quietly rubbing the knee he hurt when he fell. Sansa, who was standing nearest to him giggled.

"And completely inept, it seems" – Stannis continued maliciously as another loud thud hit their ears – "You shouldn't have caught the Bolton's attention under any circumstances. Now they'll come after us immediately fire or no fire…"

"That's not the worst of it, my lord" – Podrick said urgently – I'm afraid the secret passage is blocked."

"What?!" – Stannis bellowed.

"Well… the passage goes from the garden, then under the south gate, then inside the inner wall and comes out in the stable, right?" – Pod stuttered nervously – "The one with the entrance to the second passage which leads to the crypts…."

"Short version!" – Stannis snapped.

"Well… we accidentally set fire to that stable…" – the boy said lowering his eyes.

"We didn't set fire to it!" – Brienne said stubbornly – "It just spread form the one next to it"

Stannis closed his eyes and took a deep breath trying his best to overcome the urge to kill the bloody fools and think of a way out of this damned mess.

"We'll have to get out by the side door and fight our way through"- he said firmly – "There's nothing else for it. With any luck a few of us might make it out of the gates, get to the camp, take the horses and escort lady Sansa to castle Cerwin. It's about half a day's gallop. The Cerwins are loyal to me and even more so to the Starks and the Boltons won't dare to attack them."

Sansa's blood froze when she heard those words. So did her companions' judging by the looks on their faces. She couldn't allow so many good men to commit suicide for her, but what on earth could she do?! Suddenly the memory of the strange little door from her dream last night flashed through her brain as clear as lightning. And at that moment she realized exactly what Bran wanted her to remember. Was it wise to trust all of their lives to a weird vision she had in a nightmare? Perhaps not, but it was the only choice she had…

"There might be another way out, your grace" – she said shakily – "I've never seen it, but as far as I know it goes through the oldest crypts. But the door is locked…"

"So what, we'll break it down" – Stannis replied glad to be given even the smallest chance – "Lead the way!"


	4. Chapter 4

"Heave! Heave!" – ser Richard cried as the rest of the soldiers smashed a huge stone sarcophagus lid into the beautiful wooden door that stood between them and the ancient crypts.

Stannis, Brienne and ser Ormund stood guard at front, swords drawn and ready to meet the boltons when they would break through the main gate. Sansa stood behind Stannis's men next to Theon, who was armed only by Stannis's dagger, but prepared for defense. With every stroke of both rams she prayed to all the known and unknown gods to be merciful and spare their lives. To let them get away from bolton soldiers and find a safe way out of the crypts. But her greatest prayer was one Sansa was too afraid to utter even silently – she prayed for what waited for them behind the small silvery door to be no more dangerous than the Botlons.

Finally the main gate gave way with a loud crack and the Botlons came running into the crypts, led by the head of the family. Theon quickly jumped in front of Sansa ready to guard her with his life, but as if in answer to Sansa's prayer the door to the old crypts was smashed open before the Botlons were half way through the hall, giving their party time enough to get through and bar the door with the heavy stone lid.  
Sansa was startled by the complete blackness that blinded her eyes for a moment. She had forgotten the special vision she had in her strange dream was not real. But then the passage was lit by a feeble glow that came from Stannis's sword, revealing the long, seemingly endless staircase Sansa was already familiar with.

"Why is the light of the sword so faint?" – asked one of Stannis's soldiers sounding completely shocked.

"The Red Woman's spell must be wearing off" – Stannis replied darkly – "You'd better hope it lasts until we get out of here."

"But I thought…" – the man continued, but wisely bit his tongue.

Suddenly they heard a loud bang on the door. The huge stone lid shifted a bit, but held the blow.

"Down the stairs, quickly" - Sansa said urgently – "To the bottom"

Stannis went first, holding his sword above his head and the rest of the party followed swiftly and carefully. As they passed the almost identical doors which led to the lower levels, moving further and further down, Sansa felt her heart beat faster and breath become more laborious with every step. And she knew these unpleasant feelings had nothing to do with the exertion of so much running. A familiar fear was rising in her chest, paralyzing her thoughts and tightening her throat. Fear of the unknown ancient power that lay ahead, awoken and waiting.

She was almost in tears when they finally reached the bottom and saw the small silvery door that separated the world of the dead from the world of the living. Sansa braced herself for one final flight of stairs and what came after, but suddenly saw Stannis stop in his tracks with Brienne smashing herself into his back.

"What's wrong? Why have you stopped?" – Brienne asked staring at Stannis who suddenly looked shocked and utterly bewildered.

"I know this place…" – he whispered as he began to walk slowly down the last flight of stone steps – "I've seen it before… In a dream…"  
"Have you?" – Brienne grumbled – "I don't suppose you've dreamed of a way out of here?"

"No" – he uttered under his breath paying no attention to her obvious sarcasm – "I only saw fire… old fire from the beginning of time…"

Stannis felt his heart skip a beat as he remembered every little detail of the weird hallucination he had had as a nine year old boy almost thirty years ago. It was forever branded in his memory and haunted him for years as a ghost of a hope or a vision he couldn't understand however much he tried.

Even now Stannis could hear the screams and feel the heat of the fire that raged in Storm's End the night he saw the little silvery door for the first time. No one knew exactly how it started. Some said the cook had been careless with the ovens. Some believed it was a flash of lightning that set half of the castle ablaze in the middle of the night.  
Stannis had been sound asleep in his room when he was suddenly woken up by the smell of smoke, cracking of burning wood and desperate screams out in the hall. Immediately realizing what was going on, he jumped out of bed and ran for the door, but when he opened it huge flames rushed in almost burning his nightshirt off. Stannis jumped clear and screamed for help, but to no avail. Then he heard his mentor cry "The boy's lost, get lord Robert!" and realized he was on his own.

That was when he had first experienced the fearless clarity of mind and sharpness of senses that comes with nearness of death. A clarity that never failed to appear when he needed it and had since many times saved his life and the lives of those around him.

Stannis slammed the door shut and ran to the window. He was going to try and climb out to escape through the castle roof, but it was already completely seized by flame. His room was too high up to jump, so there was nothing left for him, but to brave the raging fire in the hall. Stannis tore a piece of cloth from his sheets, tied it around his face, poured water from the washbowl over himself and opened the door. Even larger and fiercer flames burst through the doorway this time. He muttered a last prayer to the Gods and ran out into the already deserted corridor.  
He felt the heat of the flames lick his skin and burn his throat as he scatted through what seemed a tunnel of pure fire, but strangely enough he wasn't afraid. There was only one thought in his mind - the gallery in the great hall. The great hall was huge, completely made of stone and near the keep gates. If he could make it that far, he would survive.

Stannis almost felt like he was flying inside fire as he ran through the last corridor of the keep and out onto the open gallery of the great hall. He was already at the top of the stairs when he suddenly saw the world spinning around him and felt the sickening sensation of falling at high speed. And then an unknown force caught him and placed him gently on the stone steps of an unfamiliar staircase.

For some reason he wasn't at all surprised to find himself away from Storm's End and in another castle. He was meant to be here. He knew it.  
Feeling neither pain nor fright, Stannis slowly got up and looked around. The strange passageway was cold and damp and quiet. There was no light except for the surreal feeble silvery glow of a rather small metal door at the foot of the stairs. Curious to see what was behind it Stannis came down and tried to open it. As he touched the cold metal, he felt some kind of special, even magical force run through his body. The door flung open at the slightest touch of his fingers and he flinched as he found himself standing at the very edge of an endless fire pit. Fire that burned unlike any other he had ever seen. Fire that he somehow knew existed only in the deepest bowls of the world…

Suddenly everything around him melted into darkness and he heard the muffled sound of his father's voice calling him from afar. Slowly and heavily Stannis opened his eyes and found himself lying in his father's arms in the courtyard of Storm's End.  
As soon as lord Steffon had found out that his son was left to die in the flames because his mentor believed it was too late for Stannis to be rescued, he rushed back to the castle in a desperate attempt to save his son and found the lad passed out at the foot of the stairs to the gallery with only a few minor burns and bruises on his skin. An unlikely outcome which lord Steffon attributed to the boy's bravery and luck and maester Cressen to Gods' mercy. Stannis, however, was certain that his miraculous escape was closely connected to his strange vision, though everyone assured him otherwise. But as time passed without him ever experiencing anything even remotely similar, he resigned himself to the explanation that he was just seeing things after breathing in too much smoke and taking a bad fall.

And now, thirty years later, it felt absolutely surreal to find himself in actual fact standing on the same stairs looking at the same silvery little door. So it was Winterfell he saw all those years ago. But why?! What was so special about this ancient stronghold?  
Stannis's heart was pounding and his head was spinning in a whirlwind of thoughts his mind didn't even register. He felt the whole world around him slowly shift into place and order, as if scattered pieces of a puzzle were finally coming together. As if everything was finally aligning into perfect order and starting to make sense… as it was supposed to do all along.

"Fire from the beginning of time, eh?!" – Brienne snorted – "Exactly how much 'Milk of the poppy" did you drink?"

Completely ignoring Brienne, Stannis gave her his sword and walked down the staircase. For a moment he stood in front of the silvery door, looking it over in awe, not daring to touch it and face whatever secrets it concealed. But the echoing sound of stone crashing against stone and the horrible brattle of the sarcophagus lid rolling down the stairs and thundering into a wall immediately pulled him out of his meditation.

"Come on!" – Brienne urged as the heavy catacomb air filled with noises of clattering footsteps and militant cries of the Boltons.

Stannis held his breath and touched the door with his fingers. This time it took him a little effort to shift the metal, but the door slowly opened and revealed the entrance to a rather small round semi – dark chamber. Exhaling nervously Stannis stepped over the threshold and walked in, followed closely by Brienne, Sansa, Theon and the rest of the party. As the last of them walked in the little door slammed itself behind them.

As Stannis looked around, he realized the little room reminded him somewhat of castle Dragonstone. Its walls were made of shiny black stone and richly decorated by masterfully done carvings and frescos depicting warriors, battles, fire and dragons. Some of them were similar to the ones in Stannis's old valyrian castle.  
In the center of the room stood a large sarcophagus of gorgeously carved stone. The carvings on its sides depicted various building sites and the lid was decorated with ancient involute solar symbols. Stannis wasn't a betting men, but he would wager his whole fleet, that this was the tomb of Bran the Builder, legendary warrior and architect, creator of the Wall and first of the Stark line.  
What intrigued Stannis most were thirteen identical statues that stood equally spaced around the walls. Live – size statues of beautiful young women holding swords to their chests, carved out so brilliantly, they almost seemed alive. Like the walls, they were made of black stone, but the blades seemed to be forged from some kind of strange metal that glowed with a dim light, providing the illumination of the chamber.  
Old age magical technology… no form of modern art or science in Westeros could ever match it, Stannis thought, delighted to bear witness to such glory.

"Where's the way out?!" – Brienne asked loudly.

"Shh!" – Stannis hissed – "How dare you shout in the tomb of Bran the Builder himself! Have a little respect, for goodness sake!"

"I have the utmost respect for the great hero" – Brienne answered quietly – "But if we don't get out of here soon the Boltons will show us… a lot of respect!"

"Danger is no excuse for bad manners" – Stannis shot back.

Brienne scowled and turned to Sansa as did all the other members of the company. Sansa blushed deeply at their expectant looks and whispered in a shaking voice

"I have no idea how to get out, I'm afraid"

"Bar the door and look for anything that could even remotely resemble a way out" – Stannis commanded.

"But this could take weeks!" – Sansa said horrified.

"What choice do we have?!" – Stannis huffed.

"None" – ser Ormund shrugged his shoulders and started looking for a lock or a bolt only to discover that the little door was already locked by some strange hidden mechanism

– "We could fight them off, but that's just as suicidal…"

"We may have to yet" – ser Richard said, turning his attention to one of the statues – "The door is small and looks like it's silver… silver won't hold for long when they try to break it"

Soon everyone was busy scouring every inch of the room. Stannis was examining the sarcophagus lid when suddenly one of the solar symbols caught his eye. There was a small, barely noticeable slit around the carving and Stannis would wager anything it was actually a handle. Animated by the idea, Stannis grabbed it with his fingers and tried to shift it with all his might, but to no avail. It stayed firmly in the same position.  
But Stannis was nothing if not stubborn. He wasn't going to give up as easily as that. So he looked closely at the other carvings that decorated the sides of the sarcophagus. There had to be a clue to opening the passage somewhere. There just had to be…  
He was immediately joined by Sansa, who seemed to have also noticed the special carving on the lid.

"D'you think this could have something to do with it" - Sansa whispered as she pointed at a carving of three solar symbols in a row, soldered together by a single sword – like axis, their rays intertwined and braided by a rope or something that looked like one.

Stannis didn't have time to answer. Caught up in solving the mystery of the potential handle, they jumped with fright when they heard whatever the boltons were using as a ram crash into the door.

"Told you, we'd see some action yet" – ser Richard sniggered, as he took position in front of the door - "What d'you reckon, we'll kill all the Boltons before we find the way out or vice versa?"

"Oh, you've got to be joking!" – Brienne grumbled, throwing Stannis's sword to ser Richard and drawing her own.

"Don't give a shit as long as we manage at least one of those" – answered ser Ormund and Brienne couldn't agree more.

"We fight by threes." – Stannis said – "Wylde, Tarth and Horpe first, then Storm, Shelvy and Fell… then Greyjoy, Clyne and myself… Caron, Longthorn, Penrose… Rowan, Selmy, Woods… the rest of you help lady Sansa. Fight, rest, search, fight again and whatever you do, don't let more of them in than you can handle. Understood?"

"Yes, your grace!" – all the warriors including Brienne answered simultaneously.

They barely had time to regroup, when the little door was torn from its hinges and landed on the floor with a loud thud and several bolton men rushed in.  
Stannis once again turned his attention to the lid as he heard the first clash. Even without looking he could tell it was brutal and fierce. The Boltons were in no mood to be trifled with and his own trio matched their savage rage perfectly. The limited space of the room destroyed the enemy's advantage of greater numbers, but the air was very heavy and Stannis wasn't sure how long any of them, Boltons included, could hold out. Normally, he would regard this as a no – win situation, but this time he had a strange gut feeling they were on the right track.

But as usual, things didn't exactly go according to plan. Soon ser Richard fell to the floor with a sword in his belly. Fifteen more Boltons led by Roose ran inside, forcing all of Stannis's warriors to join the fight.  
Stannis evaded a mighty blow from Roose Bolton by no more than an inch as he managed to push Sansa out of harm's way and roll clear of the sarcophagus. Bolton went after him and Sansa immediately rushed back to the lid. Three of his soldiers who managed to pick up the swords of killed bolton men leapt to her defense. Soon they were joined by Theon Greyjoy, armed with Stannis's dagger.

Leaving the matter of the way out in Sansa's hopefully capable hands Stannis diverted his full attention to Roose Bolton, whose deadly strokes he barely managed to avoid. Stannis was a very skilled warrior by any standards, but even he found it difficult to fight a longsword with his bare hands. Greyjoy had his dagger and his sword was currently in the hands of ser Axel Clyne.

As he dodged away from yet another mighty blow, Stannis suddenly noticed a flicker of light coming from one of the swords held by the statues. Giving no real thought to the matter and following nothing more than a sudden gut instinct, Stannis dove and kicked Bolton under the knee, knocking him down. Then he rushed to the statue, grabbed the sword by the hilt and pulled it out of the stone maiden's hands.

Before Stannis even fully realized what had happened the room was drowned in many – colored light brighter and warmer than that of a hundred suns. He was practically knocked down by the overwhelming, infinite, ancient power he felt coming from the sword that burnt with timeless magical fire in his hand. Everyone squinted and covered their eyes with their hands to stop the light from blinding them, but to Stannis it was no more dangerous than a ray of sunshine on his face. The heat coming from the fiery blade practically boiled air, but the hilt felt comfortably cool against his bare skin. There could be no mistaking the real Lightbringer, Red Sword of Heroes forged eight thousand years ago with old – world fire and magic.  
For a moment Stannis stood completely still and forgot to breathe as he marveled at the sheer magnificence of the legendary weapon that was now truly his.

Its blade was made of shiny dark red metal unlike any Stannis had ever seen before. The metal reminded him a bit of valyrian steel, but wasn't really similar to it. The blade burned steadily with real fire, but the light seemed to come mainly from the playing glow it had within. The grip felt like it was made from a special kind of tender scaled black leather quite similar to snakeskin. Silver strings were running through it forming a glorious intricate pattern. The guard and the pommel were both silver. The guard was elaborately decorated with serpentine loops that looked like entwined snakes and the pommel was shaped like flame.  
This sword was nothing like the fake shabby dead piece of metal Melisandre had enchanted to sparkle and deceive. It was a true masterpiece of long - lost craftsmanship and powerful bloodmagic, set ablaze by the strength of eternal love and pain of sacrifice.  
Suddenly Stannis realized that Lightbringer was no mere weapon. She was truly a living magical being, with a spirit and will of her own. She immediately recognized Stannis as her master and spoke to him in a special language of sensation he somehow understood right away. She quivered with the desire to drink blood and burn flesh at his will. Impatient to live again after having been forced to sleep and wait for him for so long.  
He was brought back by the sound of metal clashing against rock. Lightbringer's scabbard was lying at his feet, no less beautiful than the sword itself. It was made of softly glowing silver, the same as the little door and richly decorated with black ornaments he didn't have a chance to look at properly.

As Lightbringer calmed down, her light dimmed a bit, allowing everyone in the chamber to finally open their eyes. The first to recover from the initial shock was one of Bolton's men. He crossed the floor in several swift, graceful jumps and aimed a blow at Stannis, who reacted immediately by deflecting it. Although the man's sword was as fine as any in the North its blade of plain castle – forged steel was shattered to thousands of tiny pieces by the first touch of Lightbringer. Stannis plunged the blade into his attacker's chest and watched his body catch fire and char in no more than a few seconds. Everyone stood still, in awe of witnessing the terrible power of ancient magic.  
Suddenly Roose Bolton dropped his sword, ran to the nearest statue and tried to pull out its blade. As soon as the sword left the stone maiden's hands it cracked loudly and turned to ash. Immediately he tried another one with the same results. He was about to take a third chance, but was stopped by the sound of the earth rumbling around them. The first sound was nothing more than a faint grumble that grew louder by the second.

"You shouldn't have done that" – Stannis said as he felt every fiber of his being scream of fatal danger.

Before Bolton could answer the rumble turned into a horrific roar and the earth started shaking around them. Everyone instinctively fell to their knees or pressed themselves against the wall, trembling uncontrollably with fear. The boltons that remained outside the chamber were in a matter of seconds sprinting up the stairs and were soon joined by some of the men in the chamber of either allegiance.

Sansa felt her lungs about to burst and vomit rise from her stomach. Her mind screamed frantically that nothing made sense, that this was land and not sea. Land is firm and solid it couldn't possibly shake like that! And yet it was… She grabbed the stone lid until her fingers were all white and glanced around in deep, animal – like fear. She noticed that the small silver door and its empty frame started to glow.  
Suddenly an idea flashed through Sansa's panic –stricken mind, clear as lightning. As though it wasn't really her idea at all, but something her great ancestor had silently whispered in her ear alone, because she was one of his own. A trueborn Stark. "There must always be a Stark at Winterfell" – her father's words suddenly rang in her ears.  
Bran the Builder told her, that this whole chamber was created for the single purpose of guarding the magical sword Stannis had pulled out and that him choosing the right one was no mere accident. No one except its true master, chosen by some unknown greater power would be able to pick the Sword of Light out of the other twelve and return unharmed to the surface. All others were bound to choose the fake and be punished by death...  
Suddenly the room began to heat up so fast it couldn't possibly be the effect of even Lightbringer. In a matter of seconds the walls became so hot, the people jumped away screaming and the thirteen statues began to glow.  
Thanks to Bolton they would all die by ancient fire soon, Sansa thought. Or rather felt the thought in her mind. So would all of Winterfell. The little silver door the boltons had knocked down wasn't designed to withstand mechanical force. It was meant to keep in the fire, that would now spread to the whole castle, she thought and felt great sadness clutch her heart.  
Sansa was about to burst into tears as she realized that if she could 'hear' Bran the Builder talk to her in that strange way, she could ask him to show her the way out. After all, he was probably the one to hint it to her in the dream – but – not – dream she had had last night.  
The answer to her silent question came immediately in the form of the urge to turn the solar – shaped handle that Stannis couldn't shift earlier. Sansa did what she was 'told' without delay. The handle moved easily in her hands and a patch of stone on the floor next to the sarcophagus suddenly dropped to reveal yet another staircase, going down.  
Sansa's heart leapt with joyous hope and she thanked her ancestor with all her heart. And promised him that no matter how much damage his castle would suffer from the fire, she would rebuild it to the best of her ability.

"This way, quick" – Sansa cried and ran down.

She was immediately followed by the remaining Stannis's and the bolton men.  
Stannis stood at the edge of the trapdoor, his clothes already soaked with sweat as if someone had just upset a bucket of water over him. He was trying his best to keep the panic – stricken people in order, because chaos would be fatal. The air in the room was burning his skin and the statues began to bleed fire. Suddenly he saw that the trap – door was beginning to close. Luckily, most of the men were already running down the stairs, hopefully to safety. Stannis shoved ser Ormund into the passage and jumped in after him. They tried their best to keep the door from closing, but they weren't nearly strong enough to make even the slightest bit of difference. The last thing they saw before it closed were the rest of the unfortunate men running out and up the stairs and Theon Greyjoy lying in the floor, holding down Roose Bolton.

"You will burn for all your sins!" – the lad screamed – "We will burn together!"

Stannis cursed and ran down as the stony trapdoor finally sealed the chamber for good. He held Lightbringer high above his head and the intensity of her light was enough to illuminate the whole passage. It went several yards down and then turned up slowly.  
They had to stop several times as they felt powerful shocks shake the earth around them, each one more violent then the last. Suddenly they heard a blood – freezing howl of the earth, followed by complete silence. The earth firmed. Whatever 'it' was, it had stopped.  
As they reached the end of the passage, they crash – opened the door, and found themselves at the top of one of the hills surrounding Winterfell.  
Every single one of them fell down as soon as they got out and lay on the snow, gulping for air, their legs filled with lead, bile in their mouths. After lying motionless for what seemed like forever, Stannis finally sat up and shook his head to clear the sweat from his eyes, feeling completely numbed.  
Suddenly he heard Brienn's ghost – like whisper

"Father be merciful!"

He looked up and saw the sky brightly lit up with red and orange and yellow. Beneath it, in place of the castle raged the hugest and fiercest fire that Stannis had ever seen in his entire life. Its flames licked the clouds and its heat melted snow for miles around.

"The camp!" – Podrick whimpered as he stared shocked and beguiled at the fury of the woken force of nature.

"Damn the camp" – Brienne answered in the same stricken whisper – "Pray for the town…"


	5. Chapter 5

"For the watch!" – the words of his men echoed in his ears as his world got smaller and smaller, slowly disappearing into blackness. Jon felt the cold of the snow spread from his back to his chest, to the wounds on his stomach, to his hands and feet and then finally, to his head. He couldn't feel the warmth of the blood flowing out of his wounds anymore, he couldn't feel anything anymore. Not even the pain of being betrayed by his brothers.

He should've guessed that the story about his uncle was a trap, he should've seen the brooding mutiny rising right before his eyes… but it was too late now.  
All he could do now was stare at the mesmerizing dark sky above Castle Black lit up brightly by the full moon and huge twinkling stars. Their pale glow everlasting and eternal, so remote and yet so close… He could feel them looking at him, winking at him, inviting him to leave the suffering of the world of men behind and join his ancestors in the world of spirits. To let go of the earth and fly with the wind, swim in the rain and dance in the snow…  
Lulled by the utter silence that surrounded him, Jon closed his eyes and drifted away into the black peace of nothingness. Suddenly he felt himself pulled high up into the air by an unknown force that began to twist and throw him around until he felt sick. Jon tried to fight it but he was absolutely powerless against its will, like a small speck of dust in the wind. Then he saw a bright light appear in the surrounding darkness. It grew bigger and brighter by the moment as Jon felt himself pulled faster and faster toward it like moth to a candle. Finally he was released and floating freely in the air surrounded by light and fire… the Great magical Fire… one of the forces that created the world eons ago! Fire so mighty and majestic it scared and yet completely hypnotized him. It surrounded him and enveloped him. Jon could feel it burning all around him and inside of him, its heat warming his body and its magic flowing through his veins. It played with him and gently carried him until it threw him down into the darkness…

Jon felt warm blood rush into his head and slowly opened his eyes. He was lying on his belly in a dark room full of sacks, boxes and barrels. He was alone except for the huge scampering and scraping rats. He wasn't in pain but felt very strange and alien in his own body.  
Jon felt unusual strength in his muscles as they shifted beneath his skin and tried to get up. But his body disobeyed him and landed him on all fours. His arms and legs felt strangely comfortable in this animal – like position and didn't want to move his body upward. Confused and agitated, Jon tried again to stand up straight, but without success.  
What has happened to him?! - he thought in panic.  
Did the mutineers fail to kill him and disabled him for life instead? Is that why they dragged him here?! To this dusty little cellar with no light…  
And then it struck him… If there was no light, how could he possibly see where he was? Humans don't have night vision as cats or wolves do… He had never seen or heard the rats of Castle Black so clearly before… And the little cellar did seem rather large…

Suddenly he remembered the warg Orell. Orell could only see through the eyes of animals, but in ancient times there were other sorcerers whose abilities went far beyond mere warging, the wildlings had told him. Their spirits could live in animals for years after the death of their bodies. Either until the Gods decided their time on earth was up or until their spirit forgot everything that was human.  
Could it be that the majestic fire he bathed in was old – world magic that saved his life by placing his spirit inside Ghost? Is that why he felt so strange and couldn't move like a human? Did his faithful pet die for him?

His rational mind battled against the idea as completely ludicrous, but his eyes that saw the world from a completely different angle, the huge white paws he saw as he looked down and the tail he felt wagging behind him begged to differ.  
Thrown into panic and utter confusion, Jon tried screaming for help, but what came out was a loud and desperate howl. Then another one…  
As he calmed down a bit, he tried to think as rationally as he possibly could under the circumstances.  
So it was true after all… He was now a mere spirit of Jon who was left inside Ghost by the Gods for some purpose, known to them alone. The thought was still weird, daunting and tantalizing at the same time, but there was nothing he could do, except get used to being a direwolf and try to remain human for as long as possible.  
On the upside, the idea of Jon Snow being Ghost was so strange it couldn't possibly occur to anyone, thus giving him a definite advantage. It was good to have Ghost's strong body, sharp senses and lethal teeth… And as Ghost was free of all vows and duty, he could finally go home to Winterfell…

Jon sensed danger coming from the outside and heard hurried footsteps approaching. He felt his muscles tense and the hair… or fur… on his back rise with anticipation. He sensed danger and was fully alert and ready to defend himself tooth and claw when he heard a key turn in the lock.  
Jon relaxed a bit as he saw Amos Storm, the new master at arms, who was one of his loyal supporters, stand in the doorway.

"Ghost, come here, boy" – Amos whispered.

Jon growled dangerously. Even though the man before him was once his friend, so were some of the mutineers. And the sense of danger coming from outside the little cellar hit his stomach like a kick in the guts. Were they going to kill Ghost too?

"Come on, Ghost, come here" – Amos beckoned him and added sadly – "Your master's dead, boy. It's not safe for you here anymore."

Jon growled his distrust again, but stepped forward a little.

"That's it. Come on, Ghost. Come with me"

Jon heard men of the Watch coming their way, so he obeyed.  
The wolf's body still felt awkward and he had to move slowly to try and get used to it. As Jon trotted after Amos, he eyed the familiar halls and passages of Castle Black curiously. Seeing them with the color – blind eyes of a direwolf felt weird, a bit like walking in the world of shadows.

Soon they reached the door of the keep. Amos opened it with a loud creek and let Ghost out. Jon whimpered as a torrent of sounds, lights and smells abused his senses when they came into the courtyard. It seemed he could hear the breath of every man on duty, smell their unique scents, see their movements, even feel their thoughts.

This would definitely take some getting used to, he thought. How on earth do direwolves tolerate such sensitivity? But they're born with it, so it must be easy…  
As they approached the gates, he saw the familiar figure of ser Alisser Thorne coming out of the shadows. Jon growled dangerously and prepared for attack as he heard the man say

"What do you think you're doing Storm?"

The direwolf blood inside Jon's new body caught fire and begged him to leap at the enemy and rip his throat out. He longed to feel the taste of Alisser's flesh and blood on his mouth, to see the fear in the eyes of his prey… But the human spirit restrained animal instincts and commanded the wolf to wait patiently and see what would happen next.

"I'm setting the direwolf free" – Amos answered calmly – "He doesn't belong with the Night's Watch, you said it yourself. But he deserves better than being shot down like a mad dog. Have you forgotten that he fought the wildlings beside us?"

"No" – Thorne said apprehensively, and felt the hilt of his sword as he looked into Ghost's fierce red eyes, that were aglow with knowing hatred.

"Then reward him with his freedom. If you want me to support you as Lord Commander, let Ghost go back into the wild where he belongs" – Amos replied.

Jon growled angrily. So the entire Watch knew what had happened to him and was prepared to support this backstabbing bastard as Lord Commander. If it was true, they deserved each other!

"I suppose the wolf can't be blamed for his master's actions" - Thorne said reluctantly – "Have it your way, Storm. As a reward for his service to the Watch, the wolf goes free"  
"Open the gate" – the new Lord Commander shouted and the guards obeyed immediately.

"Run, Ghost. Run home, boy" – said Amos and tried to pet Ghost on the head, but Jon growled dangerously and ran ouside the gate, leaving Castle Black behind and embracing the freedom he had been secretly hoping for for so long.

Jon couldn't remember the last time he felt as happy as at this moment. He was running so fast he thought he could take flight, the dark silhouettes of the forest swishing past him. He savored the feeling of cold snow beneath his paws and the smell of frosty freshness mixed with the spicy scent of pine trees. He was as wild and free as the wind that blew in his muzzle and he was indeed heading for home.  
Jon's sharpened senses told him, that there was something strange about this breeze that came from the south. It was unusually warm and smelled like an intricate mixture of melted snow, fire and… magic… Obviously his weird resurrection wasn't the only appearance of ancient sorcery on this enigmatic night.

The southern wind was rushing through the battlements of the Wall, howling and playing with snow, picking it up from the icy floor, circling it around the few men of the Night's Watch who stood guard tonight and then throwing it over the northern side. It was strangely warm and mild and quite unlike the sharp icy northern winds that usually swished above the great frontier of the realms of men. As if this was a final breath of the summer, giving the watchers one last wave, before surrendering its rule over the world to winter and disappearing into eternity. Or maybe it was a pledge of dawn that would light the sky and end the long night. A promise of spring, a hope sent by the Gods…

Ser Davos huffed bitterly and shook his head, dismissing the assumption. What good was hope to him now?  
He sighed heavily and stared into the transparent blackness of the night as if trying to make out the stately silhouette of Winterfell standing majestically against the horizon.  
For eight thousand years the ancient fortress had been a beacon of hope that shone brightly in the darkest nights of winter. But now the lighthouse that had lost its lanterns and was nothing more than a dwelling of evil and shadows…

Shadows!

Ser Davos felt bitter rage poison his blood as he remembered the words the Red Witch had said to him at Storm's End. "Shadows cannot live in the dark, ser Davos. They are servants of light, the children of fire…"  
Even with his last breath Davos would curse the day the Red Demon set foot on Dragonstone and laid eyes on the man who was far more to him than a king or even a dear friend.  
Whispering sweet words of great duty and destiny into Stannis's ears, she always seemed so eloquent and convincing… Clouding his eyes so that they could no longer tell truth from lies and corrupting his heart, so it would no longer know right from wrong… Seducing him with her beauty and charms he was unable to resist, steeling his heart and enslaving his body… All the time leading him to death and utter destruction...  
In his heart, Davos couldn't really blame his friend, for Stannis was a man so starved of love and beauty and warmth, there was no wonder he threw himself head – down into the slough of the priestess's exotic loveliness and mysterious allure. Even Davos, who loved his wife and hated the Red Woman with all his heart couldn't help desiring her… He couldn't in good conscious pass judgment over his king as they both were only human. And because Davos knew what it was like to be blinded by love for something or someone. He had been blinded too. His faith in Stannis's natural strength and innate goodness was so great he never noticed the slow death and disappearance of the man he had practically worshiped as a god for twenty years. Not until now, when it was too late.  
No one did, except old maester Cressen, the man who raised Stannis and loved him like a father. He was the only one to see the beginning of the king's demise.

"This woman will lead Stannis into a war he cannot win… If you would tell him the truth…" – the old maester had cautiously told him, being too wise to even suggest to Davos what was really happening.

"Stannis is our king. We follow where he leads even if we don't like the path" – was Davos's true and faithful response. One that any of Stannis's men would've given the old maester, had he asked them.

Every single one of them from knight to soldier would've followed Stannis into the seventh hell without question, because never was there a doubt in their minds, that no matter how bad things were, no matter how hard it was, Stannis would lead them to triumph over anything. Because Stannis always knew the answer when everyone else was at a loss… he always found the right way when no one else could even guess where to look… And that was true! Until Stannis stopped being Stannis…

Even now, thinking back, Davos couldn't really figure out when his honorable king, his brilliant friend, his beloved sworn brother had disappeared, making way for a cruel, mindless fanatic so hell-bent on power, he would sacrifice innocent people including his only child to some stupid and monstrous fire – god.  
The Stannis he knew never believed in any sort of gods or destiny, only in duty and honor. The only way of life he embraced was using his own head and doing what he believed was right without reference to any kind of higher powers, except perhaps the Hand. When did he forget his own brilliant mind in favor of blind obedience to the words of a charlatan, dealing in lies and illusion?!  
To be fair it was hard even for Davos to discard the Red Woman's magic as mere illusion because it wasn't, but the king he knew and loved would never have put his faith into something so elusive. He would use it to his advantage but never let it touch his heart. When had Stannis begun to truly trust the fire – god? When had he lost himself?  
Davos didn't know, nor did he care. Because even now, as he was faced with the hard, bitter truth, he couldn't accept it. All Davos knew was that the memory of the true Stannis Baratheon would live forever in his heart. And the other man was now irrelevant as he had perished beneath the walls of Winterfell, defeated and alone as he deserved to do…

Pain squeezed Davos's chest as he felt the warm south wind on his face and remembered little Shireen, her brave, kind and loyal heart and bright head. How she played with him and taught him to read. How she loved his stories and dreamed of dragons and grand adventures on the other side of the world. How much she resembled her father not just in appearance, but in her strong will and noble character and how much she loved him.  
Did she know that she was murdered on the orders of the man she loved and trusted most in this world? Did she see his eyes as she was burnt at the stake? Did he have any last – minute doubts or regrets?

Tears formed in Davos's eyes and clouded his vision. Never in his life had he felt so lost and alone. Like a small boat in the middle of the ocean with no oars, no rutter and no stars to help find the way.  
Everything he ever loved was now no more than ashes, burnt by the cursed fire of the blasted Lord of Light. His son, his sworn brother and his king, the girl he loved as a daughter, most of his friends who were with him since the siege of Storm's End…  
They were gone and he was left alone with nothing but his grief and memories. Where in the world was he supposed to go from here? What in the seven bloody hells was he supposed to do?

"Enjoying the view, ser Davos" – the gruff voice of ser Alisser Thorne came from somewhere behind him and pulled Davos out of his reverie.

"Not particularly" – Davos grumbled and wiped his eyes quickly. It would never do to show weakness, especially to a man like Thorne – "Not really in the mood for beauty, ser Alisser. Or should I say Lord Commender?"

"Ser Alisser will do just fine. Forgive me, my friend. An ill – advised joke, nothing more" – Alisser replied politely – "You've heard the news I take it?"

"I have" – Davos said trying not to sound too sad. He didn't know the former Lord Commander well, but he grew to like the honest and stubborn young man, who actually reminded him of a young Stannis – "Jon Snow is dead. Killed by his own men"

"The men he betrayed to the enemy" –Alisser replied bitterly – "You condemn their decision?"

Davos chuckled and wondered for a moment how long would he survive if he said yes.

"They did what they thought was right. Just like Jon Snow" – Davos shrugged his shoulders indifferently – "No man can do more than that."

"It is strange to see the Hand sympathize with a man who refused to help the rightful king in his time of need" – Thorne replied apprehensively.

"Since when do men of the Night's Watch declare allegiance to anyone except the Watch?" – Davos asked surprised. He didn't expect ser Alisser to show loyalty to a man, whose brother stripped him of all titles and sent him to the Wall. Even less so now that the man was defeated and dead.

"Since we saw a king who truly cares about the people of the seven kingdoms." – Thorne replied earnestly – "Since lord Stannis arrived at the Wall with his army to save our sorry necks from the wildlings instead of attacking King's Landing again. Would the mad king have done the same? Or Stannis's drunk brother?"

Davos smiled and shook his head. Alisser Thorne may be a cruel, devious, backstabbing bastard, but there was something very strong and honest about him and his devotion to the Watch. He wasn't here just because Robert Baratheon ordered it all those years ago. He was a real watcher on the Wall, who honestly believed in living and dying as the sword in the darkness, the shield that guards the realms of men. He didn't murder Jon Snow because he was jealous. Not really. He truly and honestly believed he was saving the Watch. And honest devotion and true loyalty were traits Davos admired in any man.

"No, of course not!" – Thorne huffed scornfully – "Neither did any of the so – called lords and noble men of Westeros, that maester Aemon, may he rest in peace, sent our message to. Because all those bastards care about is gaining power and stuffing their pockets with gold. The whole bloody lot of them, except one. And if that's not a good reason for loyalty I don't know what is"

"True, but there's nothing you or I can do for him now" – Davos sighed heavily.

"You really think the Red Woman told us the truth?" – Alisser asked doubtfully – "Doesn't strike as the honest and faithful type, that would actually follow his grace into battle and see his death for herself."

"She isn't." – Davos agreed, feeling a warm glimmer of hope rising in his soul against his better judgment – "She could've left him when the sell – swords did and guessed the rest…"

"I'm pretty sure that's exactly what she did. And even if half of what that witch said is true and the sell – swords did leave him, I find it hard to believe that the greatest military commander in Westeros was defeated by the Bolton bastard, never mind the rest…" – Thorne said as he smiled at Davos with the corner of his mouth – "I spent six months beyond the wall during the last winter. We got caught in a storm and couldn't move anywhere from the camp. First we ate the horses and then we ate our fallen brothers. Everyone at Castle Black was sure we were dead, there wasn't any hope for us, but we got through it anyway. So until we know for sure… king Stannis is alive as far as the Night's Watch is concerned"

Davos hoped he didn't blush as he felt a wave of shame swallow him. Thorne was absolutely right! And Davos should've been the one to try and convince the watchman that there was hope for Stannis, not the other way around. How could he have been so weak and given up so easily? And since when did he trust anything the Red Witch said? He was no better than a traitor, believing her and thinking so low of his king! True, she was devoted to Stannis and would never leave without good cause, but Throne's arguments were more than valid.

"But even if the king is dead" – Thorne continued – "We still need his help, ser Davos. I hope you don't doubt that the threat from beyond the Wall is real?"

"No."

"Would you stay at Castle Black and lead the king's remaining forces against the Walkers? You needn't take the black…"

"Yes, Lord Commander" – Davos replied with the old sparkle in his eyes and a new briskness in his voice – "The sailors from Dragonstone are loyal to the death to king Stannis. I'll convince them to fight for the realm easily, I've no doubt. That's about thirty two ships, fifty to a hundred men each."

"Two thousand men?" – Thorne asked happily – "That's twice the number of the Watch!"

"I cannot guarantee that Sallador Saan will stay – Davos continued – "But I'll do my best to convince him too…"

Suddenly they were interrupted by the sound of the lift opening.

"Well well well, speak of the devil" – Davos chuckled as they saw Melissandre of Ashai rush out of the little moving box and run to one of the wooden battlements overlooking the south. She was so perplexed by something she saw on the horizon she never noticed the men approach until it was too late.

"And what might your ladyship be watching so intently?" – Davos asked dangerously.

Melissandre jumped with fright, but was too distracted to pay any serious attention to Davos and Thorne or to regard them as a threat. She looked completely lost and confused, but most of all frightened to death.

"I see fire of the Lord of Light!" – she exclaimed panting looking completely stunned – "It's flames dance in the sky! I've never seen anything like it! As I looked into the flames I saw The Great Sword found by Azor Ahai… it was a true vision! Nothing like the ones I've ever seen before… I thought Stannis was dead, that he wasn't the one, but now… I see the Great Fire of Creation itself burn in the south, at Winterfell!"

"How can Azor Ahai find anything if he is dead? Did you lie about his death?" – Davos asked with an evil grin, moving onto the woman followed closely by Thorne – "And what about the sword that you gave him?! Was that a lie as well?"

"I… I thought he was dead… I didn't lie…" - Melissandre stuttered as she moved backwards instinctively, but stopped at the edge, afraid to fall over.

"So, you betrayed him when things went sour?" – Davos said, grabbing her by the hand – "You fled for your precious life like a rat from a sinking ship?!"

"I thought I was wrong about him… About his destiny…" – Melissandre replied looking even more scared by the second.

"What are you so scared of?" – Davos asked cheekily – "That we're going to push you over the Wall for being a lying, cowardly bitch? Or that king Stannis won't be in the mood to forgive your treachery, as we both know he won't be? Or is it that fire – god of yours you're scared of who won't favor you for lying to his chosen champion and betraying him?"

Melissandre flinched as ser Alisser grabbed her other hand and he and Davos threw her into the passage in the center of the Wall. She tried to run for dear life, but fell right into the arms of the guards Thorne called for. She battled them, but they held her tight.

"Do you know what I detest most in this world, girl?" – ser Alisser asked dangerously – "Traitors! I'd be happy to wring your pretty neck with your own guts, but sadly you're not my prisoner to punish… But I shall certainly recommend it to his grace when he returns."  
"Lock her up in one of the lower sells" – he told the guard – "And be sure to make her uncomfortable"


	6. Chapter 6

The flames that consumed Winterfell were dancing all the way between earth and sky, their forks intertwining awesomely with thick black clouds of smoke. As if maintained by some magical force, the fire did not spread far beyond the circle of the castle walls and the smoke was a huge black pillar that went high up into the sky. Winterfell looked like a giant candle that flickered in the wind and illuminated the world almost as brightly as the sun did on a beautiful summer day. As far as the eye could see, the snow had melted and the ground had turned into a black mess of mud and water.

The small party of survivors of Winterfell lost track of time as they stood motionless around the secret passage and stared silently at the raging fire, listening to its crackling and feeling its heat oh their skins. They couldn't and didn't even want to move or say anything. What can anyone say when they see fairytales their mothers and grandmothers told them as children become as real as the air they breathe and the pain in their wounds? Is it possible to describe what people feel when they watch the foundations of the world set in motion forces as ancient as the earth and sky, perhaps even older? When they witness the Gods come together to reunite their chosen champion among men with the unworldly power they were gifting him?

There was nothing to say except…

"What do we do now, you grace?" – one of Stannis's men said quietly, bringing everyone around him back to the cold and dirty ground they were sitting on.

"We get some sleep and see what happens in the morning" – Stannis shrugged his shoulders as he looked back at fifteen pairs of eyes that were staring at him expectantly – "Woods, Selmy, Rowan and Penrose take the first watch."

"What about them?" – Wylde asked as he pointed at the four remaining bolton men – "We can't have the enemy among us…"

"We beg for mercy, your grace!" – one of the men pleaded immediately – "We're men of Winterfell, Stark men. Most of us hated the Boltons and fought for them only because our rightful lord was dead and they took Winterfell. And because lady Sansa was married to the bastard. Our lady knows we're loyal to her!"

Everyone turned their gazes to Sansa.

"It is true that two of these men served my father, your grace" – Sansa replied coldly – "But I find it hard to believe in their loyalty. They never gave me any help when I needed it and chased us when you rescued me. That is not the behavior of loyal Stark men"

"Please, my lady, we had no choice…" – another man said meekly – "How could we go against the new masters of Winterfell?"

"If there was any loyalty or honor in you, you would've found a way!" – Brienne snorted impatiently – "These cowards are not worth pity!"

"There's been enough killing" – Stannis said musingly after a moment's pause – "I will not have anyone stay against their will. Anyone who wishes to leave may do so before dawn. But if you stay, you must swear yourselves to me as your rightful king and to lady Sansa Stark as the rightful Wardness of the North."

"I don't need time your grace" – the first man replied – "I know that lord Eddard declared you the rightful king, his and ours. He didn't hesitate to give his life for you. For that alone I, ser Ronald Scald, knight of Winterfell would've pledged myself to you. But on this night I saw with my own eyes a power far greater and holier than lord Stark Tonight declare you the rightful king. We all did! Let no man deny that we all bore witness as the Gods themselves marked lord Stannis Baratheon as their chosen in Bran the Builder's tomb!"

"Aye!" – Stannis's men said and nodded in agreement.

"And therefore I, Ronald Scald, swear to the Old Gods that are surely watching us to live and die at you command, my king" – the man said as he knelt before Stannis – "Let the Gods bear witness that I am your faithful and humble knight and servant. Call when you need of me, ask what you will of me. My sword, my loyalty and my service are yours. Until the death."

"As are mine!" – replied the other man as he knelt and put his sword at Stannis's feet – "I am no knight, but let the Gods bear witness that I, Larry Snow, soldier of Winterfell swear to be the faithful servant and warrior of the rightful king until my death."

Stannis nodded his acknowledgment as the other two bolton men knelt along with Scald and Snow and gestured all of them to get up.

"Scald, Snow, Clyne and Caron shall have the second watch" – Stannis said as he sat down on the wet ground with some effort – "The rest of you, save Tarth and Payne have the third watch. At dawn we make for the village. "

"I repeat, anyone who wishes to leave, do so before sunrise" – Stannis added through gritted teeth as he looked at Brienne.  
'Milk of the poppy' was wearing off and as a result the pain in his wounds was shooting through his body again. Multiplied tenfold this time. An unfortunate side effect that as Stannis knew perfectly well came with most painkillers.

"Are you alright, your grace?" – Sansa asked quietly as she sat down beside him.

"Yes" – he nodded rather unconvincingly as he clenched a hand to his thigh – "You?"

Sansa sighed and nodded with a small smile.

"I'm sorry about your home" – Stannis said with a grimace of pain.

"Thank you. But don't be" – Sansa replied turning to gaze at the flames again – "My home was lost long before tonight. The Winterfell I knew and loved was destroyed and contaminated by traitors when Theon and the Boltons sacked it. If this fire is what it takes to cleanse my home of their filth, I'm happy to see it burn."

"And after the magical fire has destroyed every trace of contamination, I will rebuild it" – Sansa added cheerfully and looked back at Stannis with an impish gleam in her huge vivid light blue eyes.

"Yes you will" – he smiled with the right corner of his mouth and nodded his agreement and admiration.

Stannis sighed heavily as he felt very sad for the girl who was sitting next to him, looking into his eyes. Sansa's beautiful face seemed so young, tender and naïve, and yet her eyes were old. Old, strong and weary. The eyes of a survivor. Full of sadness and regret and yet sparkling with readiness to take on the world if need be. No young girl's eyes should ever look like that…

As he looked back at her, Stannis felt the deep, native urge to shield and protect the girl. A natural instinct that every man has for a woman or child close to him and young Sansa Stark was both.

Whoever he might be, the Ronald Scald man was right… the Gods or Lord of Light or whatever the great higher power whose existence Stannis didn't doubt any longer, called itself, was watching them. And not just tonight… All his life it had guided and taught him, protected him and showed him the right path… It was with him in everything that had ever happened in his life, all the triumphs and mistakes, all the happiness and pain… Stannis knew that now. So he swore an oath to it as he silently uttered the first truly sincere prayer in his entire life. He promised that he would do for the Stark girl everything her father had failed to do. Everything he himself had failed to do for Shireen. He would guide and protect her, help and council her, keep her safe and, if he possibly could, make her happy. He would do his best to fulfill the duty of fathers that both he and Ned Stark had failed at miserably. But at least it was Ned's stupidity that killed his children, not his own hands…

Stannis flinched with the bitter pain of regret. Once again his heart tore to shreds as he remembered his little one hugging him for the last time. Her eyes… so full of love and complete trust… the desperation in her voice as she begged him to spare her life… And it didn't feel any better that the sacrifice wasn't a mistake after all. Somehow Stannis knew he would never have been able to find the sword without it. Its necessity even made sense in a way. Whatever the strange higher force was it had to test the strength, honesty and integrity of its chosen one beyond every possible limit before it could trust him with a power as enormous as Lightbringer's. Only by going through the pain of destroying the one person he loved most in this world would he be able to wield the sword that was forged with the same power. Only by eliminating his heir could he prove that he wasn't planning to use the given power to get the Iron throne for the sake of his own vanity instead of wielding it to fight the Others for the sake of the realm and of life itself…  
But would he ever learn to live with this pain? Stannis thought desperately,  
Of course he would! He was a survivor too…

"We should get some rest" – Stannis said deciding to lie down before his emotions got the better of him – "We have a long way to go tomorrow"

"To castle Cerwin?" – Sansa asked as she curled up in a ball as close to Stannis as she possibly could, but far enough to maintain at least some sort of propriety.

"Aye" – Stannis replied closing his eyes.

"Good night, your grace" – Sansa said quietly and closed her eyes too. She willed herself to go to sleep, but she was too excited to do it. Her head was spinning in a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. Seeing Bran in a strange dream, killing Ramsay and losing Theon, Stannis rescuing her and discovering the magical sword, Bran the Builder talking to her and the ancient fire burning Winterfell… that was just too much!  
Sansa didn't lie to her king when she told him she didn't regret losing Winterfell. She could never think of it as home again. Not after everything Ramsay did to her. She was hoping for home when she came back from the Eyrie and ended up in a prison with a horrible jailor instead.  
But now all her misfortunes, errors and sorrows were nothing more than bad memories and ashes in the wind. For the first time since her father's death Sansa was truly free and happy. She felt completely safe beside Stannis and was certain she could face anything with him watching over her. Finally Sansa was with someone whom she could completely trust and believed in with all her heart. Now she could actually look forward to the future that seemed brighter than it had done in years.  
Sansa had promised Bran the Builder she would build a new Winterfell and that's exactly what she planned to do! She would create a new home and start a new life in it. She would cherish the happy memories of her fallen loved ones and make new ones with someone "brave and gentle and strong". Just as her father had promised…  
Sansa sighed nostalgically as she remembered that the doll her dear father gave her was gone with the castle. It was the only thing she was sorry for. The doll and Sandor's cloak. Sansa would've loved to wrap it around herself as she lay on the cold wet ground and let him keep her safe and warm. But she still had his handkerchief. She could feel it gently caress her skin under her dress next to her heart.  
Sansa smiled as she imagined Sandor lying on the ground beside her, hugging her as she rested her head on his chest. She could almost hear herself whispering comforting words into his damaged ear, because he would've certainly been afraid of such a huge fire. Who wouldn't be after suffering such a terrible injury!  
It was then that Sansa realized that the memory of her dearest friend was no less precious to her than that of her beloved family. That without either of them knowing it, he became far more to her than any friend could ever be. She thought of him as a member of her family. Her new family… That special someone who was brave and gentle and strong and worthy of calling himself Warden of the North and one of the Starks. The man she could see herself spending the rest of her life with.  
True he wasn't at all like a handsome and gallant knight, but she was no innocent fair maiden either. Not anymore anyway… Maybe this was what love was like in real life and not a fairytale… Not magical and unearthly at all, but hard and strong and real… Sansa felt her chest ache with a tender, happy longing, exhilarating longing.  
He was the only man for her… Sansa knew that…and if Sandor Clegane had been a loyal Kings Guard to a pathetic monster like Joffrey for so many years, she could only imagine how wonderful he would be as a faithful knight to Stannis Baratheon, a king, who was truly worth dying for. Sansa stiffed a happy giggle as she imagined the Hound standing sentry at their little camp, riding beside Stannis into battle, bearing his banner, fighting at his side, standing behind the one true king as he sat on the Iron Throne… Wouldn't they be a glorious sight? And she would wait for him to come back to her, keeping the North in check and raising their children… As her beloved mother did for her dearest father.  
And the best part of her dreams was that they weren't at all unrealistic. Sandor was planning to go north when she last saw him and she heard rumors that he had been seen at the borders of the Eyrie with Arya. Surely they were heading north to the Wall to Jon or to Winterfell. And when they learn of Stannis's victory and that Sansa was his sworn faithful subject, surely they would come as quickly as possible. Sansa would fall into Sandor's arms and tell him she shared his feelings, because now there was no doubt in her mind that the Hound had been in love with her for a long time in King's Landing. She would even be overjoyed to see the annoying Arya, who would definitely roll her eyes and take delight in teasing her sister.  
Sansa clasped her hands and prayed to the Gods to bring the man she loved and her sister back to her. They were definitely here on earth tonight… Surely they could hear her this time!

Suddenly Sansa heard someone quietly creeping up behind her and Stannis. She was alarmed for a split second, but then remembered that she was among friends. Their camp was guarded and nothing to be afraid of.  
One of the soldiers must be looking for a more or less dry spot to sleep on and doesn't want to wake everyone, Sansa thought as she calmed down.  
But the sound of the soldier's movement was too strange for her liking. There was something wrong with it Sansa couldn't quite put her finger on. On the other hand, if Stannis or anyone else didn't find the sound strange, why should she? If there was something wrong the guards would know…But they were looking the other way and she couldn't be sure that Stannis even heard the light noise. After losing blood and drinking 'Milk of the poppy' his sleep was probably too deep to be interrupted by something as quiet as that. Sansa remembered how it took her a while to wake her father when he was wounded… and he always slept lightly as any experienced warrior did…  
She slowly opened her eyes and saw one of the bolton men lying behind Stannis and quietly reaching for Lightbringer. Sansa inhaled air to scream at the top of her lungs, but was stopped by a stunning yell the man let out as his hand grabbed Lightbringer's hilt.  
Everyone sprung up in an instant and saw the thief rolling on the ground screaming, his body burning with inextinguishable fire and his right hand charred black to the shoulder.

"What the bloody hell happened here?!" – Stannis yelled as he jumped clear of the rolling man and looked at the guards.

"He tried to steal your sword" – Sansa answered as she darted away from the same blazing folly – "He crept up behind you. At first I thought he was merely trying to make himself more comfortable, but then I saw him reach for the sword. I was going to scream, but he beat me to it."

"Serves him right!" – Scald spat.

"And where the blazes were you four when the bastard crept up behind the king?!" – Wylde shouted at the guards – "He could've killed him and you wouldn't have noticed!"  
"You know perfectly well that we were looking away from the camp in case the enemy appeared from the outside" – Selmy protested – "And he swore allegiance to his grace, there was no reason to…"

"Shut up, both of you!" – Storm snapped – "He got what he deserved. And it's a good thing he did. Now we know that no one can touch Lightbringer except the king. It's better to find out with the life of a traitor than a loyal man"

"Stirctly speaking, he wasn't a traitor." – Sansa said, staring at the burning body – "He didn't swear anything, he just knelt. As did the other bolton. They were probably planning to steal the sword and run away…"

"No! That's not true! I didn't plan anything!" – the last of the bolton men cried as the whole company turned to face him – "I was asleep, I didn't know anything…"

"But you didn't swear anything either" – Stannis said dangerously.

"You said you'd let us go before dawn" – the man screamed like a hunted animal – "I didn't do anything to you…"

"Then go" – Stannis replied calmly – "I doubt there are any of yours left, but if you see them be sure to tell them what happens to the fools who try to steal from me or my friends"

For a little while Stannis watched the man as he sprinted away towards the village, then looked at Pod and Brienne asked quietly

"Anyone else?"

"No, my lord" – Pod replied confidently.

"There's time until dawn yet" – Brienne sighed quietly – "I'll decide in a couple of hours. I won't attack you, though. Rest assured."

"I didn't think you would" – Stannis replied as he lay down again – "You may be an idiot, Brienne of Tarth, but you're a good person. Honorable, honest, just and loyal. And you're one of the best fighters I've ever met. Whatever you choose, I wish you luck."

Brienne huffed irritably and threw her giggling squire a dangerous look. Stannis chuckled and turned on his side, trying to keep his wounds as far away from the dirt as possible. He would be sorry to lose this funny sulking child of a warrior. But he was fairly certain he would have the pleasure of teasing her for a while yet.

"My lady, may I… " – Podrick whispered as everyone around them settled down again.

"No, you may not" – Brienne snapped – "Go to sleep. Whatever you have to say, it can wait till morning"

As the hours went by and almost everyone at the small camp fell into deep dreamless sleep again, Brienne was the only one, except for the guards, to resist the allure of peaceful slumber.  
She paced up and down nervously as she was trying to make the biggest decision of her life. Dawn wasn't far away and she still couldn't figure out what in the world was she supposed to do next. Two days ago her life was fairly easy and her purpose clear, but now Brienne's head was aching with questions and answers that were making her dizzy.  
When she left King's Landing she had two oath's to fulfill. One was to find Sansa Stark and rescue her if need be, and the second one was to avenge the death of her beloved king Renly. She could safely say she had fulfilled the first one as lady Sansa was right now sleeping peacefully next to the man who was the main source of all her problems.  
Brienne still hated Stannis for murdering his brother, but if she was being honest with herself, everything he ever said about Renly and about herself was absolutely true. She couldn't be mad at him for being smart and honest, that wasn't right at all. And as Stannis had just said, she may be an idiot, but she was honest and honorable… at least she tried to be…  
Renly was sweet and kind and gentle, and the best man she had ever known, but in truth his claim to the throne wasn't rightful. Everyone who had even the faintest idea of succession knew that much. Brienne hated to admit it, but the man she loved was never the one true king, he was the second in line, not counting the Lannister bastards. And he did betray his older brother by trying to take the throne… Was being a good, kind person really enough to make Renly a good king? She knew the answer to that…  
Brienne huffed irritably and kicked the dirt. Why did that blasted Stannis Baratheon always have to be right?! Why couldn't she just shut her eyes to his brutal wisdom and go on with her life as she had done before?! Why wasn't her love for Renly enough to make her ignore the truth anymore?!  
And the truth was that Stannis really would have made a great king. Lord Eddard thought so… Tywin Lannister thought so or he wouldn't have regarded Stannis as a threat, greater than all the others combined, at least according to what Jaime had said. But most importantly, the Gods themselves thought so. Brienne had seen them bless him with her own eyes. Never in her wildest dreams did she think she would witness old – world magic of such immense power. How could she possibly defy the Gods by raising a hand to their chosen one and refusing to follow him?! But she couldn't break a sacred oath either… But could an oath to the Gods that obviously defied their will be considered sacred?

Brienne picked up a small stone and threw it down the hill. She wished desperately for Jaime to be here with her… to comfort and advise her… because she was really stuck this time… and the dawn was already mixing its rays with the shiny firelight.

Suddenly Brienne heard one of the guards cry out in alarm. She ran towards him and saw a party of about twenty mounted men trotting their way from the north – east. As they drew nearer Brienne and the rest of the men were hurriedly readying themselves for a fight and discussing possible ways of retreat. But as soon as Stannis got to his feet and saw the riders, he told his men to calm down with a sly smile on his face. Then he drew his sword and sent a flaming column high up in the air. The riders saw it and kicked their horses into a swift gallop.

"Who are they, your grace?" – Wylde asked perplexed as he stared at Stannis who was gently sliding Lightbringer back into her scabbard and looking rather pleased.

The answer to his question soon appeared at the bottom of their hill in the form of Black Balaq, commander of the Golden Company archers accompanied by twenty of his men. Balaq waved at Stannis rather familiarly and rode up the hill, his party following him closely.

"Good to see your grace alive and victorious" – Black Balaq said in a deep booming voice with a jolly twinkle in his eyes as the sell – swords dismounted and bowed – "Can't say I'm surprised though. They don't call you king of the Narrow Sea for nothing. But to be quite honest I expected to see quite a few more survivors…"

"King IN the Narrow Sea" – Stannis corrected – "So did I, but unfortunately this is the best I could do."

"Battle plan slightly altered?" – Balaq boomed out a laugh as he pointed at the burning castle.

"Somewhat" – Stannis answered with a slight twitch of his lips.  
Contrary to even his own expectations, he actually grew to like this proud and brave man, who was far more honorable than Stannis could ever expect a sell – sword to be. He even enjoyed his course humor and honest, but slightly limited conversation.

"And who is this glorious young beauty?!" – Balaq asked flirtatiously and winked at Stansa, who was staring at him wide – eyed despite knowing it to be very bad manners. She couldn't help it… She had never seen a man from the Free Cities before. He looked very strange, yet completely fabulous with his thick white hair, skin black as ebony and long cloak of green and orange feathers. His forearms were covered with thick golden bracelets and his armor was as rich as it was colorful.

"This is lady Sansa Stark, Wardness of the north, my friend and ally" – Stannis replied – "Sansa, this is Balaq of Lys, head of the archers of the Golden Company"

"I'm very pleased to meet you, ser" – Sansa smiled as she continued her staring that the sell – sword actually seemed to enjoy.

"The pleasure is all mine, my lady" – Balaq answered as he bowed and kissed Sansa's hand.

"You have sell – swords fighting for you?!" – Brienne gasped as soon as she recovered from the initial shock well enough to speak – "What about your famous principles?!"

"What in the name of all that is holy is that?!" – Balaq boomed in surprise as it was his turn to stare wide – eyed at Brienne – "Is that a human girl or a half – breed giant?"

"Manners, both of you!" – Stannis snapped as Brienne was about to draw her sword – "That is lady Brienne of Tarth. And you might want to watch your forked tongue around her, Balaq or she'll give you as good as she gets. Trust me, she's even a better fighter than she looks"

Brienne blushed at Stannis's unexpected compliment, but said nothing. She still couldn't decide what to do…

"What are you doing here?!" – Wylde yelled bitterly at the sell – sword commander – "You steal our horses and abandoned us to complete slaughter and now, after our victory, you decide to come back as if nothing had happened?!"

"Not very bright, is he?" – Balaq asked Stannis with a broad cheeky grin– "We were ordered to take the horses and go to that dump that's called castle Cerwin"

"What?!" – several of Stannis's men gasped, completely taken aback.

"Oy… You have to be brilliant just to make up for the rest of them, don't you your grace?" – Balaq sighed compassionately.

"Shut up and make yourself useful for a change " – Stannis snapped – "Ride to the town with half of your men and bring back as many horses as you can get. Get not meaning steal. And if you happen to see any survivors of the fire, kill them. You have one hour. When you return, we make for castle Cerwin as soon as possible."

"Aye, ser!" – Balaq nodded respectfully and mounted his horse, gesturing half of his men to do the same – "And I'll try to get something useful for that wound of yours"

With that Balaq and his men galloped away and the rest of their enlarged party looked at Stannis expectantly.

"What did he mean, your grace?" – ser Ormund asked a bit pleadingly – "I've never doubted you. I've always been loyal to you and always will be, but would you do us the honor…"

"Yes, ser Ormund, I will" – Stannis said reluctantly. He never liked to explain his plans to anyone, but this time he knew it was necessary – "The Golden Company left the camp on my orders. They were told to report to castle Cerwin and wait there for news from Winterfell. If we were victorious here, they would join us. If not they were to go back to the Wall and fight the Walkers under Davos's command."

"But why…"

"Why did I secretly send half of my army away? It was a trick to preserve half of our force and lul the Boltons into a sense of false security. I was sure there were spies in our camp after Ramsay's successful night attack. So I had to trick the Boltons into believing we weren't a serious threat anymore. Roose Bolton wouldn't have attacked us if he could help it. The plan was come to Winterfell, feign siege preparations and send twenty to thirty men to sneak into the castle at night through the secret passage to set Winterfell on fire. We would've caught the Boltons warm outside the walls… Ramsay's cavalry attack was a setback, I should've been ready for, but I'm afraid I made a mistake there. I'm very sorry to have lost my loyal friends, but…"

"But you couldn't possibly send us away instead of the sell - swords" – ser Ormund continued looking at Stannis in faithful awe as did the rest of the men – "Because then the trick would've been obvious… "

"Exactly" – Stannis nodded – "And the fire must've been visible from Cerwin, so Strickland sent you to get the news instead of waiting for it?"

"Yes, your grace" – answered one of the sell – swords.

"You didn't tell us anything about half of your army waiting for you" – Brienne said amazedly – "You could've asked us to take you to them, but you decided to trick us and go through with the original plan, adding just a few alterations along the way… That's remarkable…"

"D'you think I got as far as I did in my life by being a fool?!" – Stannis sniggered.

"No, your grace" – Brienne replied as she kneeled down and laid Oathkeeper at Stannis's feet – "And for that reason I pledge my sword and my loyalty to you from this day until my last day. I will do your bidding, shield you back and give my life for yours if need be. I swear it by the old Gods and the new."

"Why?" – Stannis asked testily.

"Because of what I've seen. And because now I understand why the Gods chose you as their champion" – Brienne replied honestly – "I will never forget lord Renly and I will never forgive his death, but there are more important things than sweetness and kindness. Such as duty, honor, strength, courage and brilliance. All I ever wanted to serve a lord I truly believe in. And once you accept my vows, I finally will."

"Very well then" – Stannis said gesturing her to rise.


	7. Chapter 7

Thanks very much for the awesome feedback everyone! I hope you enjoy this chapter!  
And as always, I'd be very grateful for a review.

* * *

"Here you are your grace" –Balaq boomed as he slid off his saddle and handed Stannis a rather small green bottle of some dark liquid or other – "Not much, but quite frankly it's a miracle we managed to find anything in this boondocks"

Stannis's breath was caught up in his lungs as he felt the thick liquor set his throat on fire when he took a huge gulp, expecting it to be wine. He stood motionless for a few seconds, waiting for the burning sensation to subside so he could at least breathe again. But as soon as the horrible tasteless concoction passed down to his stomach, Stannis felt a pleasant warmth spread through his whole body, making his head feel a bit light and somewhat reducing the throbbing pain in his newly re-bandaged leg.

"What in the seven hells was that infernal potion?" – Stannis asked as he gave the flask to Podrick, who was standing next to him with Brienne, Sansa and ser Ormund and watching with interest.

"Some kind of local hooch" – Balaq answered trying his best not to giggle – "A bit stronger than wine, but far more effective"

"What else did you find, besides local oddities?"

"Six more or less decent horses. No living survivors. There was one man, who passed through the village in some haste about two hours ago, but I decided not to chase him"

"Anything else?"

"A damn swamp of half – frozen mud" – Balaq chuckled – "A crowd of scared and curious villages, who had heard from the bolton man that both you and lady Sansa were alive, that you've been blessed with some kind of old – age magical sword and that it was the cause of the fire that destroyed the castle."

"And do they believe that story?" – Stannis asked, lifting an eyebrow as he watched Sansa, Brienne and Ormund being stunned by the contents of the little bottle.

"Aye" – Balaq nodded anxiously – "It's hard not to believe it after seeing the ruins of the castle. There's a huge pile of half - melted rock where the fortress used to be and not a single whole brick in site. Whatever caused that kind of fire was definitely not an ordinary torch"

"Indeed" – Stannis smiled with the right corner of his mouth and placed his hand on Lightbringer's hilt.

"But how…" – Balaq began as his eyes lit up with insatiable curiosity.

"All discussions at Cerwin" – Stannis cut the sell – sword general off before he could ask anything – "What else do they say?"

"Of course, your grace, forgive me" – Balaq nodded a bit reluctantly, focusing on his report again – "That they want to see you and lady Sansa. And fight by your side if need be. Oh, and apparently we've got a couple of hundred deserters wanting to come back. I've told all of them to report to you at Cerwin if they've got the balls to face your judgment"

"Good" – Stannis nodded with a small satisfied grin and climbed onto the saddle with some effort and the help of one of the sell – swords – "Move out!"

"I wonder how many men will actually come" – Podrick said scratching his head as he held the reins of Brienne's horse.

"Hopefully as many as can be" – ser Ormund replied – "We need all the men we can get, deserters or no"

"We will have men"– Stannis said and kicked his horse gently.

"Northern loyalty isn't easily shifted" - Sansa said mounting her own horse with Balaq's gallant assistance – "Once the lords learn that his grace defeated the Boltons and rescued me, I'm certain all of them will swear loyalty to his grace, just like my father did. Especially when they hear the story of the Great Fire"

"It's a shame lord… I mean, his grace let the bolton man go, though" – Brienne sighed and pulled Podrick up behind her – "There must be some Boltons left at Dreadfort and he'll surely alert them and their allies very soon"

"Exactly" – Podrick said quietly as he tried to take a sip from the sinistrous green bottle – "That's why he let him go"

"What do you mean?" – Brienne asked as she sent her horse trotting next to Wilde and Selmy, right after Stannis, Sansa and Black Balaq.

"If he had killed the man there would be no one to tell the story" – Pod explained as he grimaced and wiggled his head in revulsion – "And most of the Boltons are dead anyway. They're not a threat any longer. At least not a serious one."

"But we can tell the story to anyone who asks…" – Brienne whispered.

"Not the other side of it" – Podrick answered back.

"Then why command the sell swords to kill the other survivors?"

"It only takes one man to deliver a message"

Stannis, who was listening to their conversation with interest made a mental note to find Brienne a new squire once they got to Cerwin. The girl would never become anything more than a talented and honorable knight, but the lad was very promising. Smart, quick – witted, loyal and honest. With training and experience, his future could be very bright. And Stannis did need a new squire…

The road to castle Cerwin proved longer and more exhausting than Stannis had anticipated. Changing their pace from walk to trot to gallop, but never stopping the horses took the company through snow – covered pine forests, over rolling hills, past deep – blue lakes overhung by trees and rocks. Rays of sunshine broke through the thick dark grey clouds that covered the sky and flickered colorfully on the clean white snow. A cold, but mild northern wind blew softly in their faces, bringing with it the fresh scent of winter. Everything around them radiated cold serenity as if the hard beauty of the North was smiling graciously at the travelers.  
But the glory of their surroundings was entirely lost on Stannis, who was trying his best to remain in the saddle and not pass out onto the ground. His head felt light from blood loss and liquor and his vision was getting blurred. The wind sent a chill down to his bones, but his eyes felt like they were burning with fever. The jerking pain in his wounds slowly increased, spreading weakness and numbness to the rest of his body. As an experienced warrior he knew very well that he was in big trouble – the wounds were starting to go septic.  
And as far as he could see, his fellow survivors weren't feeling much better than he was. The several short hours of sleep they had on the cold wet ground weren't very restful and the exertion of the last two days was taking its tall as everyone relaxed in knowing they were finally safe. Some of the men were wounded and needed rest and the attention of a maester just as much as Stannis did. Sansa was trying her best to look cheerful, but her eyes were red with fatigue and she was shivering with the cold. Podrick was dozing off behind Brienne, who was forced to give him an occasional elbow on the ribs to stop the lad from falling over. A couple of times Stannis was very tempted to halt the party and get some rest, but resisted the urge. The sooner they made it to Cerwin and got some proper rest and attention, the better. So he ignored Balaq's silent apprehensive glances and rode forward stubbornly.

Most of the survivors were completely warn out by the time they finally reached Cerwin around midday. The castle was an old rather picturesque fortress that stood on a small, forest – covered hill. Its grey stone walls were about seventy feet high and connected five of its six towers. The keep was a large two – storey building that stood in the center of the fortress and was surrounded by Golden Company tents.  
As the party rode past the gates they were cheered loudly by the sell – swords who couldn't wait to hear their stories. The lady of the castle, Jonelle Cerwyn, a plain, but kind and clever woman of thirty three stood just outside the keep flanked by Harry Strickland, captain – general of the Golden Company and ser Roderick Foster, captain of the Cerwyn forces. They greeted Stannis and his party with warm, loyal respect and complimented him lavishly on his victory over the Boltons and the rescue of Sansa, who was also treated deferentially. Stannis received their attentions with well – practiced yet unforced politeness, but took very little notice of their words. He felt at the end of his tether and nothing appealed to him anymore. Nothing except the warm, fur – covered bed and the tall, shapely and rather grumpy young healer, who was soon fussing over wounds and administering various hot, spicy, bitter herbal decoctions to everyone as a prevention of colds, fevers and anything else he could think of. Castle Cerwyn wasn't large enough to have its own maester and Stannis was a bit reluctant to submit to the manipulations of the substitute of unknown qualifications. But since there was really no choice, he lay silently on the warm fluffy furs and watched the young man apprehensively.

"Just look at that mess! Was the idiot stitching with his eyes closed or something?" – the healer grumbled quietly into his beard as his swift and sure hands removed Brienne's unsightly half – torn stitches. When he finished opening up the wounds again he cleaned them using some kind of warm dark brown solution that stung the damaged tissues. And after that to Stannis's surprise the young man didn't apply any boiling oil or red – hot steel replacing them with warm, fragrant oily compresses which he placed on the wounds and bandaged them up.

"Is that it?" – Stannis asked looking doubtfully at the healer – "Aren't you going to cauterize?"

"No, your grace" – the man replied politely – "In my experience cauterizing is a barbaric and ineffective treatment."

"Any maester or warrior in the world would disagree with you" – Stannis grumbled – "Its efficiency was proven countless times"

"I humbly beg your pardon, but among the blind the one – eyed man is king" – the healer said respectfully but firmly.

"And I suppose you think you're the only sharp – sighted man in the world?!" – Stannis snorted.

"No, your grace" – the young man answered calmly – "But with all due respect I would ask you to wait until tomorrow and judge after I change the bandages"

"Very well" – Stannis answered. Although unconvinced, he was impressed with the young healer's cool and easy confidence. And he couldn't very well argue with the sensible suggestion to judge methods by results.

"It would be best for you to sleep until I come back. No one will disturb you" – the young man continued as he handed Stannis a cup of hot herbal tea – "Drink this if you please. It will bring down the fever and ease the pain."

"I have work to do" – Stannis replied taking a sip. Whatever it was the concoction turned out to be slightly butter, but rather tasty – "I shall need to send quite a few messages"

"Forgive me, your grace, but can't it wait until tomorrow?"- the healer asked with a sigh and Stannis thought he detected a touch of annoyed impatience in the man's voice – "Half a day won't make much difference as far as the ravens are concerned. And the riders too for that matter. But it will make a huge difference to you. Isn't it better to leave work until you're well – rested and no longer feverish?"

Stannis wasn't quite sure whether it was his own exhaustion or the healer's impertinent, but valid arguments that made him say

"Yes, I suppose so. Fine! Tomorrow it is. You may go now."

The healer covered his patient with a huge blanket made from fur, bowed low and sauntered out of the room with half a smile on his face. Stannis finished the herbal drink, then shut his eyes, sighed contentedly and stretched out on the soft warm fur covers. He wanted to relax his body and work his mind, but before he could even begin to turn over any of his various plans, he fell into deep sleep.

The next morning Sansa woke up feeling a nagging pain in her lower belly. She jumped out of bed and danced happily around the room when she saw her sheets covered in blood. Her moon blood had arrived just in time, proving that her body had indeed refused to accept the Bolton filth.  
If someone had told her not long ago that she would be happy to see her red flower bloom, Sansa would've dismissed their words as ridiculous lies. And yet here she was. Skipping about happily, feeling overjoyed to be safe and free of Ramsay for good. Free to live and love truly!  
They say a man never really possesses a woman, until she has berthed him a child, Sansa thought contentedly. Well, now she could safely say that she never belonged to either the dwarf OR the bastard. Ramsay Bolton was nothing more than a passing nightmare that taught her, frightened her and disappeared into the void without even a trace of it left on this earth. The fire of Winterfell cleansed her home and the moon blood cleansed her body.  
Maybe she should take the old Targeryen words "Fire and blood" for her own house, Sansa giggled to herself. After all the Lannisters have two mottos, so why shouldn't the Starks do the same?

Sansa sprang to the window and flung it open, letting in the frosty freshness of the early morning wind bite her skin. She inhaled deeply and washed her face with the snow that lay on the windowsill. She always used to do that at Winterfell as snow was said to preserve and enhance a girl's beauty. And she definitely wanted to look beautiful today. If everything went well, she would spend time with king Stannis and lady Cerwin, dream of Sandor and even allow herself to flirt a little bit with the gorgeous lysene sell – sword commander, who intrigued her greatly.  
Suddenly she heard the door open. Sansa made a snowball and threw it at the young maid, who came to put some wood on her fire.  
Sansa laughed loudly when she saw the maid jump with surprise at the sight of the young Wardness of the North fooling about like any common girl. Sansa grabbed the young girl's hands and danced her around until they both fell giggling to the floor and started wrestling playfully, laughing their hearts out. When they finally got tired of their game, the girl told her all the news and gossip, relayed the fire and ran downstairs to get on with her work as she was already running late thanks to her lady. Sansa got dressed in the plain woolen gown that was kindly gifted to her by lady Cerwin as her own dress was being cleaned and mended and decided to let her beautiful dark red hair flow free down to her waist. Somehow she didn't find the high southern hairstyles appealing anymore and they wouldn't have suited her dress anyway, Sansa thought as she looked at herself in the mirror.  
There was no hurry for her to go downstairs to breakfast as his grace was not to be disturbed until the healer ordered otherwise and lady Cerwin wasn't an early riser. However the great hall wasn't at all empty when she came down. It was filled with tables most of which were occupied by the sell – swords and in the middle of it stood several large steaming cauldrons. The men were laughing and chatting loudly as they ate some kind of stew that smelled delicious and didn't take much notice of Sansa when she quietly made her way to the pile of bowls that lay next to the cauldrons, picked one up and filled it with the hot greasy stew.  
As Sansa looked around the hall for a place to sit, she noticed that Balaq of Lys, ser Ormurd Wylde, Brienne of Tarth and Podrick were occupying a far corner of the table nearest to her. Her ex… or was it present?… or whatever… husband's squire was the first one to notice her, so he rushed across the room, grabbed her bowl and carried it all the way down to their company. Everyone got up respectfully as Sansa approached and bowed as she sat down.

"Good morning, my lords" - Sansa smiled cheerfully and gestured them to join her.

"Well it certainly is now that your ladyship has come to grace this dump of a castle with your presence" – Balaq said flirtatiously – "Your beauty lights up these dark and grey halls and makes us southerners almost feel at home, if I may say so"

"I'm glad to hear it, ser Balaq" – Sansa answered with a graciously charming smile on her beautiful face, ignoring Brienne's quiet huff – "But are the castles in Lys so different from our northern keeps that you find them so unwelcoming? I'm afraid I've never been further south than King's Landing"

"As different as light is from darkness and heat from cold" – Balaq smiled showing off two perfect rows of snow – white teeth. They contrasted awesomely with his smooth dark skin and almost matched his short thick curly white hair and neat little beard. His huge black eyes twinkled with a seductive, impish gleam and the finely cut flattish nose and full lips made Balaq's face look very exotic to Sansa's curious and inexperienced eye. Exotic, handsome and, she had to admit, rather alluring.

"The southern castles are usually very colorful and richly decorated with exquisite carvings and paintings" – ser Wylde smiled – "I'm afraid here in Westeros we have nothing to match even a modest palace of the Free cities."

"Not even Dragonstone?" – Balaq asked raising his eyebrows – "I thought it was very beautiful. After all it was built by valyrians"

"Not the kind of beauty you'd appreciate, Balaq" – Ormund answered – "Although there is something truly mesmerizing about its black walls covered with dragon carvings"

"His grace doesn't seem to be too pleased with it" – Brienne joined in doubtfully.

"Well… with all due love and respect to his grace, he's just too stubborn to be happy with any castle except his beloved Storm's End" – Wylde smiled affectionately and Balaq chuckled.

"Indeed?" – Sansa asked in surprise – "Forgive me, but is that any way to speak of his grace ser Ormund?"

"His grace is a firm disciplinarian true enough" – Wylde nodded affably – "But if there's one thing he doesn't mind being spoken aloud in any way, it's the truth."

"That's why I like him" – Balaq added, pouring Sansa some hot and fragrant herbal tea – "For that and the awesome brain he has. Definitely one of the best in the world."

"What, sell swords don't appreciate courage and strength?" – Brienne huffed rather pertly.

"These traits are certainly worth respect, but I'm afraid they're too ubiquitous to be worth admiration. Good sense, on the other hand…" – Balaq boomed back saucily – "And you are living proof that any fool can be strong and courageous, giant - girl"

"How is his grace?" – Sansa interrupted quickly before the enraged Brienne could do anything foolish – "I thought I heard the servants say he was not to be disturbed by anyone until the healer gave leave to do so. I do hope his injuries are not serious"

"I spoke to the healer this morning. The wounds went septic, but the man said there's nothing to worry about. No sign off blood poison" – Wylde sighed – "He'll be up and about in a couple of weeks"

"Since when are septic wounds considered 'nothing to worry about'?" – Balaq raised his eyebrows in surprise – "Or have your famous measters found some new treatment for them?"

"The maesters haven't. But the man isn't a maester" – Wylde shrugged his shoulders – "And he seems like a very capable fellow. He's told me he's found some new way to heal burns with less scarring than usual"

"Well, he's either the greatest healer of our time or a fraud and a charlatan" - Balaq huffed scornfully – "Which do you think is more likely?"

"That's what I thought at first" – Wylde nodded – "But the potions he gave us yesterday worked wonders on the lads' fevers. And I've never seen anyone treat wounds so well…"

"Did he say anything about reducing burn scars, ser Ormund?" – Sansa asked with peaked interest – "I fear a very dear friend of mine might be in dire need of some of his potions"

"Surely you don't mean the Hound, my lady?!" – Brienne said looking completely startled.

"I do" – Sansa replied vividly – "I didn't know you two were acquainted with each other"

"I was as much acquainted with him as I ever wished to be. I only saw him once, half a ye…" – Brienne began, but snapped her mouth shut as soon as she felt Podricks foot kick her leg and realized she had said too much.

"Saw him when?!" – Sansa said forcefully – "Where?!"

"About eight months ago…" – Brienne replied reluctantly – "Forgive me, my lady, I shouldn't have said it…"

"There's really nothing interesting to tell, my lady" – Podrick tried to intervene before his mistress made things any worse – "We just… saw each other and parted ways"

"Well if that's true, why are you so keen to shut her up?" – Balaq said deviously – "I think you two have something to tell lady Sansa and if it pleases her, I will make you do it"

"I concur" – Wylde nodded apprehensively.

"Oh, there's really nothing to tell" – Podrick said trying his best to seem casual – "Besides, he was nothing more than a deserter. He left King's Landing right in the middle of the battle of Blackwater with his tail between his legs because he was scared of fire…"

"He WAS?!" - Sansa cried as she realized that it was the second time Sandor was referred to in the past tense. A horrible feeling of dread cooled her blood and squeezed her heart as she realized what that probably meant.  
Podrick shut his mouth cursing his carelessness and Wylde and Balaq exchanged slightly anxious, but curious glances.

"Tell me the truth!" – Sansa said with notes of cold steel in her soft voice – "In the name of your king!"

"I'm afraid I have made a terrible mistake, my lady" – Brienne replied as she stood up looking terribly guilty – "I will tell you everything and bear any punishment…"

"Tell me!" – Sansa hissed.

"About eight months ago Podrick and I met the Hound on the borders of the Eyrie, but he wasn't alone. Your sister the lady Arya was with him. He had kidnapped her from the Brotherhood without banners and took her to your aunt. I presume he intended to ransom her. We fought over her and I killed him. That is all, my lady"

"And Arya?!" – Sansa asked weekly as she felt the world collapse around her yet again.

"She got frightened and ran off into the wild" – Brienne sighed mournfully – "We tried to find her, but to no avail. I'm afraid there's very little hope for her. A little child alone in the wild…"

"So you murdered both my little sister and my beloved friend?!" – Sansa cried as she tried her best to hold back her tears.  
Some of the sell – swords looked at her curiously, but one glance from their commander made them forget what wasn't their own business.

"Forgive me, my lady" – Brienne said, getting down on one knee – "I would never have done such a thing had I known that the Hound was your friend. But he was a deserter and a scoundrel, so I assumed…"

"You assumed?!" – Sansa mimicked her venomously – "What made you think an idiot like you has the right to assume anything?! What do you know of anything except flinging swords?! Sandor was no deserter! He left the battle for me! He tried to free me and take me from King's Landing to my family"

Everyone, especially Podrick was surprised by this little piece of information. The Hound was always staring at lady Sansa back in King's Landing, but he never thought there were any feelings involved other than the Hound's lust. And not in a million years would he have imagined that the beautiful young lady Stark returned any of the ugly and cruel killer's affection. Even lord Tyrion didn't know…

"But he couldn't…"– Sansa continued, lying as freely as she breathed. She couldn't bear the thought of the man she loved, her only true friend, who saved her life many times and protected her by any means he had, being thought of as a coward. Especially by lord Stannis, who would no doubt very soon hear of her conversation with Brienne – "So he found my sister and tried to do the same for her… Until you killed him and made her run off into the wild alone to certain death!"

"My lady, I will bear any punishment…"

"Punishment?! You failed my mother and murdered Sandor and Arya. What kind of punishment do you think I would want for you?!"

"My lady, these were honest mistakes…"

"Why should I care?! The people I loved are dead regardless of your intentions! I would gladly cut your throat with my own hands if I thought it would bring them back!"

"I beg your pardon, my lady" – Wylde said cautiously – "We all serve the king. So he shall decide what to do about lady Brienne and we will accept his decision. You know he will judge her fairly…"

"Yes, ser Ormund" – Sansa sighed, wiping her eyes – "You are right. But until he does, I don't want her anywhere near me, do you understand?!"

"Of course, my lady"

"Excuse me, my lords" – Sansa bowed her head slightly and stalked out of the hall.

Stannis was flinched out of his sleep by feeling someone pulling off his blanket and removing the bandages on his leg. For a moment he couldn't remember who or where he was, but then he recognized his chamber at castle Cerwin. Judging by the light coming from the open window it was already after midday. He felt well rested and almost healthy. The only thing that reminded him of any injury was the reduced pain in his wounds, weakness in his muscles and the young healer fussing with the bandages.

"How are you feeling, your grace?" – he asked as he removed the last bandage and examined the wounds.

"Bloody excellent" – Stannis replied with a note of awe and disbelief in his voice. His whole lifetime of battle experience with all sorts of wounds told him that he wasn't supposed to feel this good yet. Not for a week or even more. And yet, here he was. Almost no pain or fever or anything…  
Whoever this young man was, his healing skills were way beyond those of any maester Stannis had ever met. Even those of old maester Cressen and Pycelle.

"I'm glad to hear it" – the young healer said in an I – told – you – so kind of voice and started to irrigate the wounds with the same stinging liquid as before – "The fever is down and the tissues are cleaning up nicely."

"How soon will it heal?" – Stannis asked hopefully.

"Several weeks."

"No miracles there, eh?"- Stannis sighed a bit disappointedly.

"I'm afraid the body always heals itself in its own time. All we can do is help it to speed up the process a little, but not too much" - the young healer smiled and shrugged his shoulders. Then he handed Stannis a cup of some steaming liquid – "Drink this. You'll have to drink quite a lot in the next few days, I'm afraid"

The hot brownish decoction felt a bit bitter, but at all unpleasant. Stannis inhaled its scent deeply and tried to decipher the smells of familiar herbs, but wasn't at all successful.

"What's your name again?" – Stannis asked the young healer as he watched him work on the clean compresses and bandages.

"Willem Storm, your grace" – the young healer answered.

"You're from the Storm Lands?!" – Stannis asked surprised.

"Yes your grace"

"Well, maester Willem, I can truthfully say that you were absolutely right and your oils or whatever they are really work wonders."

"I'm not a maester, your grace" – Willem replied with a touch of bitterness in his voice – "But thank you."

"No, but you're better than any of them" – Stannis smiled with the right corner of his mouth – "Where did you learn all of this?"

"At the Great Citadel" – Storm smiled back – "But this treatment I developed on my own"

"And how does a man from the Storm Lands come to study at the Citadel and become an excellent healer without getting the chain?" – Stannis asked with genuine interest.

"Oh, that's a long and rather uninteresting story, your grace" – Willem answered – "Not worth your attention"

"I'll be the judge of that!"

"Very well your grace, but I'm afraid it will have to wait. Ser Wylde is outside. He wishes to speak to you urgently on a matter concerning lady Sansa."

"I see" – Stannis frowned and shouted – "Wylde, get in here!"

The door opened immediately and ser Ormund entered the room with a happy smile on his face.

"Your grace!" – he bowed deferentially – "I'm very pleased to see you looking well. We were so worried, when…"

"Yes, yes, yes!' – Stannis interrupted irritably – "How are the lads?"

"Fine thanks to maester Willem here."

"The sell – swords?"

"All ready and awaiting your command."

"Any news from castle Black or Winterfell?"

"Not yet, your grace."

"Fine. I'll send the news of Bolton's destruction to every castle in the north and a special message to castle Black once you tell me what the matter concerning lady Sansa is…"

Sansa lay still on her bed and let tears slide freely off her eyes and into the thick fur. Once again her sweet dreams and happy hopes were shattered to pieces by a harsh stroke of fate. Thanks to the stupid Tarth woman, she would never see either her beloved or her sister again. And she couldn't even hate her as the accursed creature had saved the life of her king and played no small part in her own rescue. What was Sansa supposed to do now? Ask for her head? Try and forgive her? Both options seemed impossible.  
Sansa just couldn't accept the horrible deaths of yet more of her loved ones. Her heart twisted with pain and bitterness as she imagined Sandor bleeding to death all alone on some field and poor little Arya freezing from cold and fear before dying of hunger or being eaten by some wild animals. Sansa's only hope was that they didn't suffer too much before they joined the world of spirits.

Now almost all of her dear family were gone and she was left behind to mourn and remember them... Her father, her mother, her brothers and sister, the man she loved… So much death… So much pain… Why did she have to be the one to see it all? What was it her family was so guilty of, that the Gods saw fit to punish them so cruelly?! Why couldn't she and her Hound have been happy even for a little while?! Couldn't they give him just one happy memory to think of before he left this world?!  
Or maybe it was all her own fault. Everything would've been different if she had only gonewith him that night. She only stayed because she was sure Stannis would take the city and free her and now she hated herself for it. Would she have gone with Sandor had she known that Stannis would lose? She definitely would now. Now she would've followed him anywhere. He promised to keep her safe and he would have done so for both her and her sister. She would've been happy to travel with him to the ends of the earth if need be.  
Tears poured down Sansa's cheeks as the touched her lips remembering their kiss. How she wanted to feel the touch of his lips again, his strong arms around her, comforting and caressing her… How she longed to see him again!

Her bitter thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. Sansa didn't answer. She continued to lie still and hoped whoever was behind that door would soon go away and leave her to her grief. Or was even that to be denied her?!

"I beg your pardon, my lady" – Sansa heard ser Selmy's voice from the other side of the door – "I'm very sorry to disturb you, but his grace wishes to see you right away"

Sansa sighed heavily as she sat up on the bed. Maybe the Gods weren't so bad after all. Maybe they weren't denying her solitude, but giving her a chance to share her grief with someone. Someone kind and wise and caring… Someone who could really help her even if only by choosing the right words…

"I will be out shortly, ser" – Sansa called. Then she got up and washed her face. No matter what happened, it would never do for his grace to see her tears…


	8. Chapter 8

" 'Safety?! Where is that?! Her aunt in the Eyrie is dead. Her mother's dead, her father's dead, her brother's dead. Winterfell is a pile of rubble. There's no safety. If you don't know that by now, you're the wrong one to watch over her'. And then lady Brienne asked 'And that's what you're doing? Watching over her?' And he answered 'Aye. That's what I'm doing' ". And then the fighting started and lady Arya ran off" – Podrick finished his tale with a sigh.

"That's it?" – Stannis huffed looking resignedly at Pod and Brienne who were standing in front of him with their heads down.

"Yes, your grace" – Brienne answered – "Except for the language"

"Excellent! Wonderful! Well done!" – Stannis said with mock countenance – "You're a hero, Brienne of Tarth. One truly worthy of legend. Such a shame your heroism isn't spoiled with some wit and a little bit of common sense. Didn't it occur to either of you that the girl refused to trust you because she trusted Clegane? And I suppose it was too much to ask for you to just let them go and follow closely in case your suspicions turned out to be true?"

Birenne stood motionless and stared at the floor. She didn't even try to answer back.

"But your grace, we thought the Hound was going to ransom her. Even lord Tyrion didn't know about him and lady Sansa and…" – Podrick said meekly.

"And what if he was?" – Stannis snapped – "D'you think he would've harmed his prize in any way? Arya Stark still had a sister at Winterfell to pay for her. Both of you knew that much. And she could've even taken him on as a soldier as a reward for delivering their precious sister home. Or were you planning on collecting the reward yourselves?"

"Certainly not" – Brienne huffed in outrage – "I merely thought…"

"You thought?!" – Stannis snorted – "Good thinking! Arya Stark has disappeared and is probably dead"

"I only did my best to fulfill my vow, your grace" – Brienne answered, looking at her feet and praying for the floor to magically open up and swallow her along with her shame.

"Give a fool enough rope and she'll hang herself" – Stannis chuckled – "Look at me, both of you!"

Podrick and Brienne raised their eyes reluctantly and were surprised to see that the king wasn't looking half as angry as they thought he was.

"Your stupidity actually did lady Sansa a huge favor" – Stannis continued more affably – "Getting rid of the Hound was in her best interests however much she may hate it. She'll never thank you for it, but I will."

Then there came a knock on the door.

"Beg pardon, your grace" – Selmy peeked in – "Lady Sansa is here"

"Yes, send her in" – Stannis nodded and then turned back to Pod and Brienne – "Away with you! Try not to catch lady Sansa's eye too much for the time being, Brienne. And don't even think of apologizing or offering to right the wrongs in any way, do you understand?"

"Yes, your grace" – Brienne bowed, turned around on her heels and left the room swiftly with her squire running behind her.

Sansa glared daggers at Brienne as she passed by, entered the room on ser Selmy's invitation and bowed gracefully.

"You wished to see me, your grace?" – Sansa said putting on her sweetest smile as she saw him sitting up in bed.

"Yes, my lady." – Stannis nodded politely – "I apologize for my… informal attire"

"Please do not think of it, your grace. I hope you're feeling better?"

"I am, thank you" – Stannis replied, shifting uncomfortably under the huge fur blanket.  
He wasn't at all used to being dressed in nothing more than his shirt in front of young women, especially beautiful ones. In fact the only women who had ever seen him in that state of undress were his wife and the Red Woman. But it somehow felt natural with Melisandre who seemed to enjoy the nearness greatly and Selys's opinion on the subject didn't matter. But now he felt utterly exposed under Sansa's gaze even though neither of them was even remotely interested in the other sexually.

"But I fear the same cannot be said for you, my lady" – he continued calmly, hoping to the Gods he wouldn't blush.

"No, your grace" – Sansa sighed heavily and shook her head as she found herself staring unwittingly at the small triangle of Stannis' bare skin that the untied shirt didn't cover.  
The pain from losing her loved ones was still very strong and nothing was further from her mind than sensual thoughts and yet somehow she couldn't help noticing his deep jugular notch, pronounced clavicles followed by well-developed pectoral muscles, the strangely beautiful contrast the black chest hair formed with his pale skin…

"Sit down, my dear" – Stannis said clearing his throat and gesturing to the chair next to his bed.

Sansa obeyed and felt a comforting warmth of his nearness caress her bleeding heart. Even now, lying in bed wounded and vulnerable, the king seemed to radiate a certain innate power, the might of the Warrior and the wisdom of the Father given only to virile men. And for a split second Sansa wished she could climb in next to him, curl up in a ball and feel the comfort of his strength. She yearned to once again be the little girl who hides in her parents' bed from the scary monsters she believed appeared at night under her own.

"I'm sorry about what happened to your sister" – Stannis said gently.

"It seems our family just wasn't meant to be" – Sansa replied mournfully – "Arya and I were never the best of friends, in fact we used to irritate the living daylights out of each other… but I did love her"

"Yes, well… it's only natural for younger siblings to make the older miserable" – Stannis replied resignedly – "It's the main delight and purpose of their lives as far as I can see."

"Did lord Renly vex you a lot too?" – Sansa asked with a vague, but genuine smile on her sweet lips.

"Vex me is putting very mildly" – Stannis chuckled, his heart both warmed and broken by memories of little Renly never leaving him alone, always playing tricks on him and constantly climbing into Stannis's bed at night when he was scared by some bad dream. It was only natural for the little lad to prey upon his brother as their parents were dead and Robert was living at the Eyrie, but he annoyed Stannis to no end all the same – "I did love him once, though …"

"All of this almost makes me fear for my brother Jon if I'm being honest" – Sansa sighed heavily – "He's all I have left and I couldn't bare it if something happened to him."

"Jon Snow is a very capable young man, my lady" – Stannis replied reassuringly – "He can take care of himself"

I hope! – Stannis added silently. He wasn't at all happy with the mood at castle Black when they left and he didn't see much chance of its improvement, unless Snow's scheme with the wildlings should fail or the Watch should get itself a new Lord Commander…

"But Snow might not be the only family you have left. Your two younger brothers might still be alive, you said so yourself" – he continued – "It's a pity we couldn't ask Greyjoy about their possible whereabouts, but I've ordered the Golden Company's spy master to find out all he can about their fates. And Lysono Maar is a master of espionage, probably second only to Varys. If they're still alive, we'll know soon enough where to find them."

"How can I ever thank you, your grace" – Sansa whispered as she looked at Stannis, her eyes sparkling with gratitude and affection.

"We'll see about that when you actually have something to thank me for" – Stannis continued, feeling even more uncomfortable – "And as for your sister… She was believed dead for almost two years before she appeared at the Eyrie with Clegane. It's quite possible that she's still alive. Unknown and glad of it."

"Do you think it possible, your grace?" – Sansa asked doubtfully – "A young girl alone in the wild…"

"Anything is possible, until proven otherwise. But I confess I was very surprised to hear of your… er… relationship with Sandor Clegane" – Stannis continued choosing his words carefully as the poor girl was obviously hanging on to her courage with her fingernails – "I never would have thought of him as a man who would forget his king and his duty for the sake of a fair maiden…"

"You mean you never thought him capable of love, your grace?" – Sansa asked defensively – "Who could have ever expected a bitter dog to be human?"

"I'm afraid I'm no expert in matters of love, my dear, but I am smart enough to not judge a book by its cover" – Stannis said a little reproachfully.

Sansa blushed and lowered her eyes shamefully. How could she be so bad mannered as to be rude to her king, who was also the wisest man she had ever known, except perhaps her father in law lord Tywin? Even grief is no excuse for a lady to misbehave.

"Forgive me, your grace, that was unworthy of me" – she said quietly.

"It's quite all right, my dear" – Stannis smiled with one corner of his mouth – "Tell me everything"

"I'm afraid there isn't much to tell, your grace" – Sansa sighed and gathered all her remaining strength to try and stay calm while telling the story of how her soul truly touched another for the first time. She began at the very first moment she saw her non - knight at Winterfell and left nothing out of her faithful narrative.  
Stannis listened quietly and attentively as Sansa poured her heart out. He never said anything, but the knowing and compassionate look in his deep dark blue eyes made Sansa want to say more and more until there was nothing left to tell. She even smiled as she felt some of the heavy weight being lifted from her shoulders and the bitterness from being wronged by the Gods slowly began to turn into to a light, gentle, sad longing for her loved ones and all the happiness she could have had with them.

"I see…" – Stannis finally said when Sansa finished her story.

He paused for a moment wracking his brain in a desperate attempt to find the gentlest way of putting what he was about to tell the girl.

Even a far less intelligent man than Stannis would have no doubt that Sansa believed herself to be in love with someone she considered a fallen hero. One destined to be healed and redeemed by true love in a fairytale happy ending. A notion quite natural for a young girl prone to romantic ideas, but stupid and dangerous none the less…  
As he looked at Sansa's young, sad face lit up by the tender emotion he was about to shatter, Stannis was cursing himself for not being more like Davos whose eloquence with words reached a state of the art level. Davos would've surely known how to make the girl see sense without hurting her feelings. He probably would've told a couple of little white lies and twisted facts a bit to meet his purpose, but unlike his friend Stannis was useless when it came to comforting. He never hesitated to lie when necessary, but in such cases as these he honestly believed the pure simple truth to be the best option and always ended up hurting people. Even little Shireen. Even if hurting her meant hurting himself even more, he just couldn't lie to her. And he couldn't bring himself to lie to Sansa either.

"It's very easy and tempting to mistake kindness or pity or ulterior motives for love" – he said honestly, thinking of his own stupid infatuation with Melisandre – "But attaching yourself to someone who shows you the least bit of attention because you're lonely is a recipe for disaster. And you've already seen it happen to you."

"I don't just mean Clegane" – Stannis continued firmly as he saw bitter anger replace shock on Sansa's beautiful face – "You made the same mistake with Baelish…"

"Baelish saved me because he wanted to use me for his own gain, Sandor did it selflessly!" – Sansa cried as she couldn't believe what she was hearing.

"Are you sure about that?" – Stannis asked looking at her intently, his fiery gaze sending shivers down Sansa's spine as she felt it pierce the darkest and most intimate corners of her soul.

"I was never in love with Baelish!"

"No, but you trusted him all the same."

"And what about you, your grace?!" – Sansa asked defiantly standing up from her chair – "Are you that different from the Hound or Littlefinger, that I should regard myself wise to trust you? Having a Stark at your side will make it easier for you to retake and control the North. You were a friend of my father, just like Littlefinger was a friend of my mother. You're both brilliant players in what lord Tyrion used to call the Game of Thrones…"

"Whatever my motives may be, you should use your own head to find out" – Stannis replied sternly – "You should rest, my lady. You look tired."

"Yes! Thank you, your grace!" – Sansa said with icy rage as she curtseyed and stalked out of the room.

Stannis grimaced as he drained a cup of some new horrible tasting potion healer Storm had brought him and lay back onto the soft furry covers of his bed. He smiled to himself as he listened to Sansa's fading footsteps. He was sorry to hurt the girl, but her reaction of questioning his own motives for rescuing her pleased him greatly. Young Sansa certainly had the courage of a Stark, but as for her quick wit and sharp tongue… Stannis was almost starting to question lady Catlyn's fidelity.

Slowly his eyes became heavy and closed without his volition. Weather it was the effect of the potion or simply the wounds taking their toll, Stannis soon felt himself falling into the peaceful darkness of deep sleep again. He didn't even try to resist its allure as he had already done even more than he had planned to do for the day and he didn't want to face the agonizingly dismal thoughts that occupied his mind when there was nothing else to concentrate on. At least not yet…

Stannis had just closed his eyes when he was woken up again by Willem's voice, saying

"Your grace? Wake up, your grace…"

"Huh?" – Stannis muttered sleepily – "What is it?"

"Drink this" – Storm said, handing him a cup of yet another steaming concoction that looked greenish this time.

Stannis sighed irritably as he sat up and looked around. The soft evening light was touching the room gently with its fading red and yellow rays. It couldn't have been more than an hour since Sansa left and he didn't feel very pleased at being disturbed every five minutes to drink something or other.

"Couldn't it have waited until tomorrow?" – he grumbled as he sipped the warm liquid.

"Are you still feeling week?" – the healer asked with a note of worry in his voice.

"Somewhat…"

"I'm sorry to disturb you, your grace, but I'm afraid ser Ormund, commander Balaq and captain Stickland asked to see you as soon as possible. Some of the ravens we sent have returned with replies from the lords Mormont, Glover, Hornwood and a couple of others whose names I can't quite recall"

"That's impossible" – Stannis said bewildered – "There's no way in hell the birds couldn't have made it in less than a day…"

"It's been almost two days, your grace" – Storm said with a little smile, that couldn't really hide the apprehensive look in his eyes.

"What?!"

"The ravens were sent the day before yesterday. You've been sleeping since then"

"Almost two whole days?!" – Stannis exclaimed – "What d'you do, drug me?"

"Of course not!" – Storm replied treacherously – "But since your grace was having some trouble understanding the concept of 'bed rest' I'm afraid I was forced to add a bit of sleeping draught to your medicine."

"A bit?" – Stannis grumbled throwing the young healer a dangerous look.

"I'm very sorry, your grace, but sleep is essential. It's when the body heals itself…" – Storm replied casually – "Oh, and I almost forgot! Lady Sansa's been asking to see you since yesterday morning."

"Did she say why?" - Stannis asked smiling a bit slyly with the corner of his mouth.

"Something about apologizing for saying something horrible" – Storm replied and smiled no less archly – "Although judging by how upset she was I doubt she was the only one to be unpleasant. She didn't sleep a wink last night according to lady Jonelle's maid Mansy. And she looked so awful this morning, I've actually had to slip a couple of drops of 'Essence of Nightshade' into her lunch wine."

"Hard truths cut both ways, I'm afraid" – Stannis shrugged his shoulders – "I'd better see her right away, then"

"Not until I've treated you" – Willem replied, pulling off his warm blanket – "Besides, girls of that type tend to get a bit emotional, especially when their moon blood arrives."

"I'm a curious man, but there are limits to how much I want to know, thank you very much" – Stannis grumbled.

"Just proper functions, nothing to be ashamed of" – Storm giggled and then instantly became serious as he asked – "And speaking of proper functions, aren't you hungry, your grace?"

"No."

Willem said nothing, but Stannis could tell the young healer wasn't at all pleased by his answer. And neither was he.

"Not going as planned is it?" – Stannis asked the frowning young man as he felt the brownish liquid sting his wounds again.

"Not as well as I'd hoped, but the valyrian streak in your blood is very strong, so it's to be expected"- Willem answered matter of factly – "Balaq doesn't agree with your lads when they call you the Son of Fire for nothing, you know"

"What d'you mean?" – Stannis asked completely taken aback. Like any Baratheon he did have valyrian blood in his veins, but he never would've thought to describe it at strong.

"Contrary to what most noble descendants of Old Valyria believe, there's far more to valyrian blood than silver hair and purple eyes, your grace" – Storm smiled excitedly – "Actually blood is an absolutely fascinating thing. The way traits are shuffled through breeding to create new ones can be breathtaking. The slavers in Lys have been studying valyrian blood since the Doom and use the intricate laws of heredity extensively to create beauty and strength in their slaves. Especially the girls and lads in the pleasure houses."

"Like breeding hounds" – Stannis huffed contemptuously.

"Exactly" – Willem nodded with sparking eyes – "Blood affects everything from appearance to the smallest, practically imperceptible working processes of the body. And, as hard as it is to believe, the strongest traits may not be the obvious ones…"

"How can you tell the valyrian part of my blood is strong?" – Stannis asked curiously.

"Oh, it's absolutely obvious, your grace. First of all, your eyes are very dark blue. Unusual color for Westeros, but typical for Lys. Valyrian blood gives that deep, sparkling darkness. By the way, that's a perfect example of what I said earlier about the strongest traits not necessarily being obvious ones. If a person has light purple eyes the valyrian streak in their blood is weaker than in someone with dark blue, dark green or dark whatever."

"Indeed?"

"Aye. Then there's the way you're built. Tall, broad shoulders… angular, but finely cut features… muscular, but lean and flexible…Pale skin… Typical valyrian mixed race. The slavers in Lys would pay a fortune for you."

"Yeah, nice" - Stannis chuckled at the vaguely insulting compliment.

"Ever notice Balaq's peculiar skin shade? A sort of glittering light black? That's a valyrian streak as well."

"That's amazing!" – Stannis shook his head in wonder.

"Mixed race valyrians are known for their high tolerance to pain and blood loss, but suffer suppuration and blood poison very badly" – the young healer continued enthusiastically – "They're also either immune to some diseases or suffer lightly if they do catch them. Greyscale for example is universally fatal to adults, but is easier to stop in mixed race children. Although they still remain scarred, I'm afraid."

"Oh?" – Stannis asked as the familiar pain cut his heart.

The memory of baby Shireen catching the terrible disease was as fresh in his mind as if it had happened yesterday. His fault. If he hadn't bought that doll… But it didn't really matter now, since he had done something far worse then give her greyscale…  
"If a man knows what he is and remains true to himself… the choice is no choice at all" – he had told her – "He must fulfill his destiny… and become who he is meant to be… however much he may hate it… "  
And it was true. If sacrifice was easy it was no real sacrifice. He believed it then and he believed it now. What is the life of one child against the lives of all the future generations? What is the soul of one man against life itself? Nothing… But… Why did it have to be him?!

"What do typical mixed race women look like?" – Stannis asked, wanting to picture the woman his daughter could have been as he felt bitter regret poison his soul.

"Either short or tall, but always slender, with beautiful, curvy, well – pronounced figures" – Willem answered a bit cheekily – "Pale, huge eyes, long eyelashes, thick hair, thin lips, tender skin… "

"Studied them closely, have you?" – Stannis chuckled, recognizing the lustful gleam in the young healer's eye.

"I'm not sworn to celibacy, thank the Gods" – Willem giggled.

"How can the streak be strong in me, but not in my brothers?" – Stannis asked after a pause.

"I don't know, I'm afraid" – Storm shrugged his shoulders – "But it's not unusual. And valyrian blood can also sleep for several generations and then come out in fool bloom."

"And how does a lad from the Strom Lands become an apprentice maester of the Citadel, then leave it to study valyrian heritage in Lys and end up in a small castle in the North?" – Stannis asked intrigued.

"It's a long story, your grace and there're fare more important things for you to do than listen to me" – the healer replied.

"I'll decide when to deal with what" – Stannis snapped sternly – "And right now I will hear your story, Willem Storm"

"Very well, your grace" – the young man said reluctantly as he finished bandaging the wounds after applying some sort white odorless of ointment on them – "Twenty nine years ago, my mother, who was a tavern servant girl in Storm's End got groped by some knight and nine months later brought me into this world. I spent the first years of my life in a tavern on the shores of Shipbreaker bay. We had a fairly good life… always had a roof over our heads and plenty of food. Except for the year of siege, but that doesn't really count since everyone was starving, weren't they?"

"Aye" – Stannis nodded – "We tried to leave as much to the civilians as we could, but in the end… the rats weren't half – bad though, were they?"

"Oh yes they were…" – Storm giggled – "Thank the Gods for ser Davos!"

"Indeed" – Stannis said softly, the thoughts of his best friend warming his heart.

"After the war my mother met some man and we moved to Old Town. The eternal love ended as suddenly as it started, so she was forced to work as a maid at the Great Citadel. It was her job to clean, wash and prepare ingredients such as herbs and powders for later use. The work was hard, so she usually left the ingredients to me. I was fascinated by them, so I asked the maesters about every ingredient I laid my eyes on. Seeing my interest, they were kind enough to teach me to read and write and allowed me to use the library whenever I wished. When I was eighteen, they took me on as apprentice. And I was good. Very good. One of the best in my year. After four years of studying, I was about to be granted the title of Maester and sent off to Westeros, but a week before I was supposed to take my vows, I got expelled…"

"What for?"

"For sneaking down to the harbor brothel" – Strom answered with cheeky smile.

"That's it?" – Stannis asked apprehensively – "It's ridiculous to kick an apprentice out for something like that, especially a talented one. Punish him, certainly, but throw him out? You weren't the first nor the last one to do something like that. So, what really happened?"

"I'm afraid I've always had a certain disregard for many of the ridiculous rules of the Citadel, your grace. And a mind of my own that was appreciated even less than my discipline" – the young man replied – "That was just the latest in a long line of rule violations on my part. So the Archmaester, in his wisdom, decided I was too reckless to take the oath. But as a reward for the success I had in my studies, he didn't take away my chain."

"Well, that's something…"

"Indeed" – Storm said happily – "I was desolate at first, but after a while I realized that being expelled was the best thing that could ever happen to me. I ended up having both the full skills of a maester and the freedom to practice wherever I liked. Instead of being bound to one single castle for the rest of my life, I could go anywhere and gain as much experience as I possibly could.  
My mother had been dead for some time, so there was nothing to hold me in Old Town. My chain was mostly silver, so I sold it and got a passage to Lys. There I bought a small house in the Pleasure District and started to practice as a healer. And after a while, I became very popular with both the slaves and the masters. I spent two years there, learning everything I could from the alchemists and studying people and diseases, but what fascinated me most was valyrian blood. There's no better place in the world to study it than Volantis, so I sold my practice in Lys and moved to Volantis.  
I had even more success in Volantis and became the healer of many aristocratic families. There I heard of the fighting pits. I was planning to move to Meereen in a couple of years to study the treatment of battle wounds, but one of the noble girls, Talisa Maegyr took an interest in my craft and asked me to take her on as apprentice. Since her father agreed, I couldn't very well refuse her."

"Oh, I see" – Stannin rolled his eyes.

"No, nothing like that, your grace" – Willem smiled – "She was a beautiful girl to be sure, but we were both too sensible to be interested. And then, one day, we heard news of war in Westeros.  
I decided that being a surgeon in my homeland would be far better than anything I could ever become in Meereen, so I sold my practice and sailed off to Westeros. Talisa ran away from home and begged to take her with me, so I did. We were supposed to make Port at Storm's End, but the captain didn't want to risk sailing past the Lannister fleet that was patrolling those waters, so we sailed up to Widow's Watch and joined Robb Stark's army. I learned a lot about battle trauma and did the best I could to improve the treatment. About a year later Talisa became his wife and I his chief surgeon. I was lucky enough to escape the Red Wedding with ser Roderick, who offered me the maester's post of castle Cerwin. So here I am. "

"Cerwin is no place for a man like you" – Stannis said with a note of admiration – "You're good enough for the Red Keep. Or even better… chief surgeon to myself at castle Black?"

"It would be the greatest honor, your grace" – Storm answered happily, very pleased to get offered the post he was hoping for since he saw Stannis's army of sell-swords arrive at the castle.

"Don't answer lightly" – Stannis replied watching the young man testily – "The enemy marching on the Wall is far more dangerous than any army of men, no matter how well – trained… The legends of the White Walkers are true."

"I'm not afraid of magic, your grace" – Willem answered casually.

"Did you learn a lot about it at the Citadel?" – Stannis asked shrewdly.

"Your grace?" – Willem asked feigning surprise well, but not nearly well enough.

"No maester's chain ever made could possibly have enough silver or even gold to cover the cost of a house in Lys. You must've had several valyrian steel links, which are rare and represent magic if my memory serves."

"Yes, your grace, that is correct" – Storm replied with a touch reluctant, but impressed smile – "I have studied magic at the Citadel, but I sincerely share the opinion of most maesters. I don't really believe in magic…"

Much to Stannis's chagrin their conversation was suddenly by Balaq, who knocked loudly on the door and poked his head into the room without waiting for an answer.

"Oh, finally, you're up, your grace!" – he boomed with a bit of familiarity Stannis didn't really appreciate – "We've been receiving ravens all day with answers to your messages…"

"And what do they say?" – Stannis asked, rising and eyebrow at the sell – sword.

"How the hell would I know?!" – Balaq replied, although the outrage in his voice wasn't nearly convincing enough to Stannis's ears.

"Are you trying to make me believe, Strickland resisted the urge to steel at least one of the scrolls while Wylde wasn't looking and take a peek at it?" – Stannis smiled archly.

"No" – Balaq's laugh rumbled across the room – "I'm saying he couldn't steel any because ser Ormund guards them like a harpy. So do I. We're the Golden Company. We don't break our word, whatever happens!"

"Good" – Stannis replied sternly – "Is Strickland thinking of doing so?"

"What do you think?" – Balaq snorted – "The coward's been dreaming of Slaver's Bay ever since he saw the giants at the Wall."

Stannis smiled to himself as he saw the lysane spit with disgust.

Black Balaq may be a sell – sword, but he was a brave and honorable man, who didn't look for easy ways or turn his back to danger. Besides, Stannis was sure Balaq was eager to have some real adventures worthy of songs and legends…And he was the one to hold the Company in check if things got sour, not the quivering jackal Strickland. So Stannis had to make sure Balaq becomes captain – general before they march to the Wall…

"Well, if the captain – general is so eager to learn the contents of those letters, we mustn't keep him waiting, must we"

"Right away!" – Balaq nodded and disappeared behind the door.

"Storm, tell lady Sansa to come here as soon as I've dealt with the letters" – Stannis told the healer, who was finishing bandaging his leg.

"Yes, your grace".

Two hours later, Sansa was pacing nervously up and down the hall as she waited for the knights and sell – swords to leave his grace. She couldn't wait to see him again and say what a stupid mistake she had made, by behaving like a silly, spoiled little child especially to a man she and her father admired greatly. A man who risked his life to save her and treated her with true respect. She still felt hurt by his harsh and brutally honest words about Sandor and herself, but deep down she knew he was absolutely right. And comparing Stannis Baratheon to Petyr Baelish was an insult the king wasn't likely to forget in a hurry…

When the door finally opened and the men came out of the chamber, most of them looked happy and excited.  
Probably a good sign, Sansa thought to herself as she greeted them with a charming little smile and a nod of her head.

"Is it good news, commander Balaq" – she asked the sell – sword, who just couldn't resist the pleasure of bestowing a little kiss on her small, gentle hand, that could hold a dagger just as well as a needle.

"It is, my lady" – he replied with a coquettish smile on his exotically handsome face and gestured her to come in.

Sansa took a deep breath and entered the room with her head held high as a Stark should.

"Good evening, your grace" – Sansa said trying to hide the nervousness in her voice as she curtsied gracefully – "I trust I find you well?"

"Is this a social visit or have you found a reason to trust me?" – Stannis teased, deciding to skip the social graces he always hated and usually ignored.

"Oh, your grace, I'm so sorry for behaving so ungratefully" – Sansa replied guiltily – "I am loyal to you and always will be, truly I am! I didn't mean anything I said… It was so stupid of me to…"

"It's all right, child" – Stannis interrupted with a twitch of his lips and gestured her to sit down – "It's natural to defend those you believe yourself to love, even when you know it is wrong to do so. Although I am curious to know what differences you see between Baelish and myself"

"Oh, your, grace, please don't repeat what I said!" - Sansa sighed heavily and obeyed. She was relieved to see that the king wasn't angry with her, but she still felt stupid and guilty.

"I insist"

"There's a world of difference between you" – Sansa blushed – "True, you're both very clever, but you are strong and honest. Littlefinger isn't. You went into your enemie's castle and risked your life to save me, Baelish used others including myself to kill Joffrey and steal me away so he could use me… You could've attacked King's Landing and claimed the throne when Tywin Lannister was no longer alive to protect it, but you did what only a true king would do. You chose to protect the realm and its people, even those you despise. Baelish would murder his own mother and everyone else in the seven kingdoms if it got him any closer to the throne…"

"That's absolutely right" – Stannis interrupted her, looking quite pleased – "How do you know it was Baelish who murdered Joffrey?"

"Baelish and lady Olenna Tyrell. He told me so himself. Without my knowledge he put poison in a necklace I wore to the wedding, part of which lady Olenna later removed and used successfully. Lord Tyrion and I got blamed for the murder they committed."

"A brilliant scheme, which turned out even better than either of them expected. I assume you know, most of the lords of the North have answered my messages" – Stannis said, changing the subject – "Most of them swore fealty to me and to you as Wardness. They will send their forces to castle Black and we will join them shortly."

"I never doubted they would" – Sansa replied happily – "But who were the ones, that…"

"The Karstarks. They refuse to follow anyone who is associated with the Starks in any way" – Stannis said musingly – "They've never forgotten what your brother did to their lord and they never will, but they'll bend the knee sooner or later."

"This is no way for a sister to speak of her older brother, but Robb was a fool to behead Rickard Karstark" – Sansa shook her head – "But surely he's paid for that! The entire North has"

"There's nothing wrong with telling the truth" – Stannis replied feeling almost as proud of the clever girl as lord Eddard would've been – "Especially since you're absolutely right. Beheading the man half of his forces recognized as lord was one of your brother's fatal mistakes. A king must expect the loyalty of his subjects, but never be too sure. As should a Wardness"

"When do we leave for castle Black, your grace?" – Sansa asked, feeling very pleased and flattered.

"As soon as the deserters from Winterfell and the forces of Bear Island arrive" – Stannis replied – "But you won't stay there long, my dear. Just long enough for you to see your brother and accept the vows of your vassals as Wardness of the North. After that you shall return to Cerwin or to any other castle of your choice."

"But your grace, a wardness should never leave her people in times of war. And I'm not afraid of hardships" – Sansa said stubbornly. She wasn't going to allow anyone to look down on her and keep her at bay. She didn't intend to be a wardness only in name.

"I'm not suggesting that you are, but the Wall is no place for a lady. Your troops will be led by your brother Jon Snow or myself. Your presence is needed here. To keep the North in check and provide the army with a secure and reliable rear. And take care of your younger brothers, should we manage to find them. But, as wardness, you shall be required to attend some of the council meetings, so you will get a chance to travel to castle Black often enough"

"As you command, your grace" – Sansa replied contentedly, feeling pleased as to be taken seriously and treated as an equal by a man like Stannis.

Suddenly they heard a knock on the door.

"Yes?!" – Stannis called irritably.

"I beg pardon, your grace, but another raven just flew in" – answered Storm as he came in and handed Stannis a small scroll. Stannis opened it and cursed under his breath as he read.

"What is it?" – Sansa asked worriedly.

"It's from castle Black" – Stannis sighed heavily seeing his worst fears being realized – "I'm very sorry, my dear, but your brother Jon is dead. Killed by his own men. And the wildling's warg scouts report, that an army of White Walkers is marching on the Wall as we speak..."

If the windlings were scared enough to inform the Watch and Thorne was convinced enough to send for help, we're in really big trouble, Stannis thought to himself.

"Storm, alert Wylde, Strickland and Balaq immediately" – he continued decidedly – "Wylde and the rest of my men shall stay here with lady Sansa and a thousand sell - swords to wait for the Mormonts and anyone else, who chooses to come. I shall lead the rest of the Golden Company on a forced march to the Wall. We leave at dawn."

"At once, your grace!" - Willem nodded and ran out into the hall.

"Your brother's death will be avenged, I swear to you" - Stannis said, feeling thoroughly uncomfortable as he watched the girl's eyes fill with tears. He hated crying women, because he had absolutely no clue what in the world was he supposed to do with them...

But Sansa didn't hear him. She didn't hear anything as her heart screamed silently.

"No! No, no, no, no!" - she thought, desperately refusing to accept the news that were slowly starting to sink in - "Jon can't be dead! This can't be happening! Not to my brother! Not again!"

Sansa felt her eyes swell with tears and wiped them quickly. She didn't want to cry in front of the king. She didn't want to show weakness... But tears ran treacherously down her face and she couldn't stop them however much she tried.

She didn't even get to say a proper goodbye to Jon when they left for King's Landing. She was too stupid and carefree and to eager to impress Cersei and her mother to bother with sentiments for her bastard brother. But she did love Jon as dearly as anyone in her family and she never got to tell him that! And no amount of sorrow or remorse on her part could change that now!

Sansa shrugged as she suddenly realized she was saying her thoughts out-loud and Stannis was listening to her. Sansa blushed deeply and muttered some excuse as she tried to run for the door, but Stannis caught her arm, pulled her to himself and hugged her, cursing under his breath.


	9. Chapter 9

The stormy wind was howling wildly through the woods, bending hundred year old trees to the ground, spitting snow and ice everywhere. Jon felt its bite deep within his guts as he curled up in a ball to rest under a fallen pine tree. Even the thick warm coat of the direwolf wasn't enough to keep out the vicious, biting cold that seemed to spread to every corner of the ancient forest. His human spirit felt wary of the strange, malicious snowstorm that seemed to come from nowhere, but every sense and instinct of the direwolf body screamed of mortal danger, making him want to crawl to safety or run away as fast as he possibly could. But he would not dare risk entering the darkness that descended on the forest. The sharp glowing eyes of a direwolf could see a thick blackness spread through the air like ink in water, covering the earth with the shadow of an ancient horror, instilling fear of death in the hearts of every living being. Instinctively he knew at once what the strange mist was and where it came from.  
"Shadows never go away", "shadows with teeth" – Tormund's words raced through his mind as he watched the darkness dissolve in the air, swallowing the feeble light that the setting sun gave to the world. But his rational mind refused to accept even the possibility of the old magic working on this side of the Wall…

Suddenly he heard a loud croak and saw a raven flying low through the trees, completely undisturbed by the darkness. It was very strange to see a living creature leave his nest and brave the wroth of the snowstorm, but the raven didn't seem to care. There was no fear in his motion, as if the shadow didn't touch his wings at all. Jon watched him curiously as he flew in circles around the forest as if looking for something. Then, all of a sudden the raven swooped down gracefully and landed right in front of him. Jon smelled the air and detected a whiff of wearwood bark, blood and magic coming from the raven. And then he realized the bird had three eyes.  
"Follow me!" - Jon heard a familiar voice inside his head as the raven suddenly croaked and took off as swiftly as he landed. Still shocked by all the magic that seemed to surround him all over a sudden, Jon felt instinctively the raven meant him no harm and knew instantly he had to obey. Unwilling and fearful, he climbed out of his hiding place and ran as fast as he could, following the lead of the strange yet familiar creature.  
The storm tore at him as his body cut through the wall of whirling ice and snow, but Ghost's long legs and thick fur made it possible to battle the forces that weren't at all the weather of the world. But the swishing winds seemed unable to bother the raven which was protected by some kind of magic no less ancient or powerful.

Stannis squinted with pain as he felt ice and snow slashing in his face and pulled the reins of his horse. He could hardly see anything through the fierce blizzard that covered the forest with an impenetrable veil of freezing white mist and cutting rain. He felt his horse duck its head down and shift nervously under the saddle as if afraid to go any further into the storm. And Stannis couldn't help feeling the animal was right… There was something strange about the gale that appeared very suddenly out of a clear blue sky at sundown and in a just a few minutes covered the world with thick, heavy darkness.

"Make camp for the night!" – he yelled at the top of his voice, shouting down the howling wind and cracking trees.

"Aye, your grace!" – shouted Black Balaq and passed the order down to his men, who were more than happy to obey after three days of forced march.

While the sell – swords busied themselves with tents, fires and horses under Balaq's and Strickland's watchful eyes, Stannis limped slowly off the road in the rather ridiculous hope that being surrounded by trees might give him some idea of what on earth was going on. He could sense something strange was happening in the ancient forest of the Gift as the snowstorm howled and raged through its trees. Something that seemed to arouse a nasty feeling of dread in both men and horses, that were growing more restless by the minute, pacing on the spot and snorting anxiously. Instinctively, he grabbed Lightbringer's hilt with his left hand and felt her quiver with excitement in her scabbard.

"Your grace!" – called the voice of Willem Storm as he ran after Stannis with a wary look on his face – "Forgive me, but it is not wise to be alone in a storm like this"

"There's something wrong here, Storm" – Stannis said apprehensively as the healer caught up with him.

"What is it?"

"I don't know…" – Stannis muttered musingly – "The air feels… heavy".

"So, you've sensed it…" – Willem said with a sly smile.

"Aye" – Stannis replied looking at him with surprise.

"What does it feel like to you?" - Storm asked quietly.

"Well… Like magic…" – Stannis answered reluctantly after a moment's thought.

"That's exactly what this is" – the healer nodded with a heavy sigh as he looked around cautiously.

"I thought you said you didn't really believe in magic" – Stannis said, lifting an eyebrow.

"I don't believe in the maesters' concept of magic or Gods for that matter… Magic itself, on the other hand…" – Willem answered, frowning with concentration, his voice trailing off – "I've never sensed power quite like this before…. It's strong, old and…"

"Yes?" – Stannis gasped under his breath.

"Fearful" – the healer said doubtfully – "It's strange…"

Stannis couldn't help shivering as the man's words made the hair on the back of his head stand on end. He could practically feel himself leave the world he knew behind and step over the brink into the unknown. Everything around him – the bending and creaking trees, the twirling snow, the frightened horses, even the faces of the men he knew seemed to be the same and yet completely different. As if he was starting to see the world through different eyes. And perhaps he really was…

"We should get back to the camp, your grace" – Storm said with obvious notes of worry in his voice – "It's too dangerous to stay out here…"

"Why?" – Stannis asked suspiciously as they began to make their way back through the snow that was already knee – deep.

"Just a hunch…" – the young man murmured evasively.

"What do you mean 'just a hunch'?!"- Stannis snapped – "If you think or know something, speak up, man!"

"I'm afraid there's no 'knowing' where true magic is concerned, your grace" – Storm shrugged his shoulders – "It's all guesses and hunches and sudden thoughts that seem to come out of nowhere. You have to listen very carefully to its voice and then maybe your thoughts will give birth to power…"

"This is ridiculous!" – Stannis huffed irritably – "If you have to listen to it, why do your thoughts create power?!"

"It's impossible to explain, your grace" – Willem smiled genially – "That's one of the reasons magic is so difficult to teach and learn and why it is shunned by most maesters. You can only understand how it works once you've used it, not before. But you can't really use it unless you know how to do it…"

"That doesn't make any sense!" – Stannis grumbled as they finally came out of the trees and onto the road.

"It's not supposed to" – Storm chuckled, squinting from the harsh wind blowing in his face – "But if you think about it, maybe it will…"

"Are you making fun of me?!" – Sannis snapped dangerously at the healer who seemed to be enjoying posing his little riddles.

"Of course not, your grace!" – Willem replied rolling his eyes slightly – "I would never…"

"Pray excuse my interference, your grace, but it is impossible to make camp in this filthy weather." – came the revoltingly silky, high – pitched voice of Harry Strickland, captain – general of the Golden Company as he trotted over to the two men – "The wind is too strong for tents and there's no dry wood for fire. The horizon looks clear enough though… may I suggest turning back to Cerwin?"

"No captain – general, we will not turn back!" – Stannis growled throwing the fat, slimy little man a glance of contempt. The more he saw of the captain - general, the more he despised him as Strickland seemed to embody every paltry quality of the sell – sword: laziness, low cunning, complete lack of honor or loyalty, precariousness and infamy – "If they cannot make camp, tell your men to dig holes in the snow"

"But your grace…" – Strickland tried to protest, looking horrified.

"Am I not understood, captain – general?" – Stannis asked, towering dangerously over the man.

"Yes, your grace" – the sell – sword murmured resentfully and wrapped himself up even tighter in his woolen cloak.

Stannis huffed scornfully as he watched Strickland drag himself away, muttering something about never contracting idiots again, but in his heart he knew the coward was right. The danger in the weird darkness was practically palpable and it was folly to stay in the forest, open and unprotected, even on the road. But turning back to Cerwin was even worse.  
Things would be a lot easier if they could somehow make a fire, but…

"He's right. I am an idiot!" – Stannis grumbled suddenly, rolling his eyes and pulling Lightbringer out of her scabbard. As soon as his fingers touched the hilt, he felt the might and power of her ancient magic flow through his body and could swear Lightbringer almost sprang out on her own. The light and heat she emanated were so intense, the sell – swords snapped their eyes shut and turned away and even Stannis was forced to squint for a moment. Her radiant power melted the surrounding darkness and illuminated the old forest brighter than daylight. Stannis could feel her warmth drive the bitter cold away from the forest and feelings of dread from the souls of every man and beast. Even the snowstorm seemed to quiet down as quickly as it started.

Everyone, who was brave enough to open their eyes was looking around and staring at Stannis in complete awe. Concealing his own excitement as best he could, the king walked slowly over to the nearest bunch of firewood and touched it with his sword. The soaking wet twigs and branches were immediately lit up with a hot, playful fire that seemed completely unaffected by dampness.

"There's your fire captain - general" – Stannis smirked matter – of – factly – "The rest of you will light your fires from this one. Make camp along the road. No one is to venture out into the forest under any circumstances"

The sell – swords went to work enthusiastically and Stannis slipped Lighbringer into her scabbard with a sense of excited curiosity. As soon as the sword disappeared into her silvery home, the forest sank back into darkness, but this time it was just the natural gloom of nighttime with no heaviness or fear in the air. The horses seemed to calm down and the men were soon resting peacefully around hundreds of camp fires, cooking dinner and feeling warm and content.

"That's one hell of a sword you got there, your grace, if I may say so" – Balaq said with intrigued admiration as he sat down beside Stannis, Storm and Strickland after finishing his inspection of the camp. The men were resting comfortably in front of a large fire and waiting patiently for the boar that was roasting above the flames to be cooked.

Stannis threw him a look of proud satisfaction and said nothing.

"Is everything in hand?" – Strickland asked trying to sound severe. He always did his best to seem confident around the commander of archers, but in truth Strickland hated and feared him. For Black Balaq was stronger, more popular with the company and seemed to be developing a friendship with their contractor, so the captain – general had good reason to fear his position.

"Aye, but there's a matter that requires you attention, captain - general" – Balaq replied, stretching out lazily – "A wee problem with Franklyn Flowers and Mandrake"

"Oh, now what?"- Strickland grumbled irritably.

"Something about horses" – Balaq waved dismissively – "Apparently, Franklyn's horse had fallen, so he took one of Mandrake's and refuses to pay for it. But Flowers denies this and says the horse was his own and Mandrake is making it up to get money out of him"

"And what did you say to that?" – Strickland asked rolling his eyes.

"I told them to either kill each other quickly or wait for your judgment" – Balaq giggled – "They're waiting for you… I hope"

"Well then I suppose I'd better see to them" – the captain – general sighed, getting to his feet.

"I thought you lot were supposed to be an outstanding example of discipline among sell – sword companies" – Stannis snorted as he watched Strickland trot away.

"We are" – Balaq replied cheekily – "But these skirmishes are inevitable, I'm afraid"

"But why didn't you bring them here?" – Strom asked curiously – "It's not normal for the commander to go to the soldiers to pass judgment, they should be brought to him… otherwise it's just plain disrespect"

"Of course they should, but Strickland doesn't appear to be aware of that" – Balaq replied deviously – "And a commander who doesn't know where he stands won't be a commander for long"

"Well played, Balaq of Lys" – Stannis said with a slight twitch of his lips.

"Thank you, your grace" – the sell – sword answered with a satisfied little bow – "But with your permission, I'm still curious about the sword…"

"What about it?"

"I've never seen or even heard of a weapon that can actually kill a snowstorm" – Balaq replied looking wildly happy with excitement.

"No weapon or magic trick can change the weather of the world" – Willem chuckled affably, glancing discreetly at Stannis. Although the men were on rather friendly terms, Storm wasn't sure how much the sell – sword captain could be trusted. But Stannis gave him a slight nod of approval, so Storm continued – "It is beyond anyone's influence. It wasn't a snowstorm Lightbringer's magic fought off"

"What was it then?" – Balaq asked with sparkling eyes, glancing from Willem to Stannis and back.

"Some kind of dark old magic" – Stannis replied, stroking Lightbringer's hilt affectionately – "But I hope she didn't scare off whatever created it. I want to know where that storm came from and why"

"Begging your pardon, your grace, I don't think the magic was dark" – Willem retorted.

"How can you feel the presence of magic?" – Balaq asked staring in awe at the healer – "And how can you possibly know its color?"

"Contrary to what most people believe, magic isn't something that just appears when whoever uses it makes a spell and then vanishes into nowhere" – Storm replied, taking out some fragrant dried herb powder from his pocket and throwing it onto the fire to add some flavor to the meat – "I think it's a force that is always present, but remains unseen while undisturbed. Any disturbance can be felt by anyone who is within range to feel it and has the power to use magic."

"Are you saying you two can use magic?!" – Balaq asked, looking bemused.

"Why are you surprised? You've seen his grace wield the Sword" – Storm chuckled – "Using a magical object requires certain abilities. So does handling magical creatures. Ever wonder why only the Targaryens were able to hatch, tame and ride dragons? After the fall of Old Valyria anyway…"

"But I thought anyone could use magic if they really wanted to" – Balaq said looking a bit disappointed – "The red priests…"

"Think magic is a gift from the Red God to anyone who performs the correct rituals if their faith is strong enough" – Willem continued – "And the maesters believe that anyone can learn to use it if they work hard at it. Or at least they let anyone apply for a valyrian steel link. But that is not what I find."

"I don't know about maesters, but the red priests preform some pretty amazing stuff. So do the sorcerers in Asshai and beyond" – Balaq said, turning the roasting boar over – "Their magic is very powerful."

"I'm not a red priest, but in my experience, their magic is either mere illusion like glamoring or elemental control or it is bloodmagic, which is another matter altogether. Of course there's also necromancy. That's real magic, all right. But there are very few who can do it and it is extremely dark stuff. But illusions don't even come close to true magic and the power of bloodmagic is in the blood of the victim, not the performer."

"King's blood" – Stannis thought as he felt a shiver run down his spine.

"Blood?" – Balaq asked with peak curiosity.

"Aye, the ability to use magic isn't a matter of faith or knowledge, but something innate" – Willem continued excitedly – "And it can only be gifted through blood."

"I suppose you mean valyrian blood?" – Stannis chuckled in a feeble attempt to make a joke about the young man's obsession.

"It is one of the most powerful and rare valyrian streaks, yes" – Willem replied seriously – "But apparently it's not exclusively valyrian. Some of the northerners, especially the wildlings and men of the mountain clans have it too. I'd love to find out where the magic in their blood comes from…"

"But I have valyrian blood too, so why couldn't I feel the magic of the storm?!" – the sell-sword asked looking thoroughly upset and envious.

"I told you, it's a very rare trait" – Storm replied compassionately – "Even among the pureblooded Targaryens it wasn't very common and almost got lost. Queen Daenerys is probably the first Targaryen in a hundred years to be blessed with magic. We were just lucky"

"Life's a bitch" – Balaq grumbled resentfully – "I'm a lysane descendant of Old Valyria. For generations my ancestors were bred carefully by the slavers and I'm powerless. You, Willem, are a westerosi son and grandson of tavern wenches. How the hell did you get so lucky?!"

"Breed smart not hard" – Storm replied, patting Balaq's shoulder sympathetically. The sell – sword laughed heartily and even Stannis giggled.

"But if it makes you feel better, it may yet turn out that you do have the right blood, you just haven't really needed it yet" – Willem continued affably.

"What?"

"That's only my opinion, but in my experience, the power at first comes to a person with the right blood only when the magic thinks they truly need it. It usually happens in childhood and can easily go unnoticed. People experience something they can't explain when they're angry or scared and then forget all about it. But some of the smarter ones remember what magic feels like and try to feel it again. And with practice, sooner or later, the power comes when they call, but it still acts at its own will… I felt it first when I was six, but you might be a late bloomer like his grace here"

"Yes, that must be it" – the sell – sword smiled contentedly.

"As a matter of fact, looking back now, I think I felt it first when I was nine" – Stannis said musingly.

"Oh, now I'm really depressed!"- Balaq grumbled.

"Really?!" – Storm asked enthusiastically – "Would it be too much to ask you how it happened, your grace? It's merely for the purpose of research"

Stannis sighed and shifted uncomfortably. He hated opening up and sharing parts of his soul even with Shireen and Davos. Even the people who were closest and dearest to him felt like intruders into his closed off and very private world, much less men he knew so little. But it was his own fault he spilt the beans about his memories and he did owe young Storm one for healing him…

"Fine" – Stannis snapped irritably and told the story of the fire at Storm's End.

"That's amazing!" – Willem exclaimed delightedly when the king finished his tale – "What you experienced was an absolutely stunning phenomenon! Foresight like healing is a relatively common manifestation of magic, but protection like that… Unbelievable! And invaluable! I really can't thank you enough for telling me this, your grace!"

"Well, there you have it" – Stannis grumbled feeling thoroughly exposed and completely out of place.

"Oh, and speaking of protection, I don't think the snow storm was meant as an offense" – Willem continued enthusiastically – "I may be wrong, but I believe it was actually some form of protection"

"What?!" – Stannis asked, completely taken aback.

"I cannot be too sure, because power like that is way beyond the talents of anyone in Westeros or Essos. Only the most powerful maeges in Old Valyria could've accomplished something as grand as faking a storm if the legends can be trusted… which is doubtful…"

"Yes, yes, yes, what's your point?" – Stannis interrupted, as Old Valyria, like healing, was a subject on which Storm got carried away far too easily – "Back in the woods you told me the magic was… fearful, I think you said?"

"Sorry, your grace" – Willem smiled – "It was fearful. I think the one who performed it was afraid. I can guess, because no matter how powerful, the basic principle of magic remains the same. 'Thought gives birth to magic'. And therefore, magic carries part of the performer's mind. That's why prophecies can't really be trusted and skinchangers may temporarily go mad if the animal their spirit is in happens to be killed… I'm sorry, I'm not making much sense…"

"No, you are. I think I'm finally beginning to understand something about this whole concept of magic" – Stannis said excitedly – "So, you think whoever brought down the snowstorm was afraid and seeking protection?"

"Exacly" – Willem nodded happily.

"Protection from what?" – Balaq asked, looking dumbfounded – "And for whom?"

"I don't know" – Storm shrugged his shoulders.

Brienne smiled broadly as she stretched out in front of the fire next to Podrick and several Golden Company sell – swords, whom, to her surprise, she managed to befriend during the march and their previous stay at castle Cerwin. Feeling warm and full, she covered herself with her woolen cloak and lay staring at the dancing flames, looking forward to a whole night of rest after an exhausting three – day march. She hadn't felt so happy since her beloved Renly gave her a post in his Kingsguard. And even then her joy was a bit spoiled by the scornful disdain of her fellow kingsguard knights. She had accepted it as an inevitable reaction to a woman wearing armor and fighting among men, but it still hurt her that she would never be accepted for who she was. Except perhaps by Jaime Lannister and Podrick…  
But now, at long last things were different. Although the sell – swords teased her continuously, they did it in a very friendly manner and there was no doubt in Brienne's mind she was finally accepted and even admired for being the huge, ugly and stupid, but honest and brave warrior she knew she was. It was so strange to think that the men whom only a couple of weeks ago she despised for being sell – swords, or minions of Stannis Baratheon, or both had become her comrades. And that breaking her sacred vow to kill Stannis would turn out to be the wisest thing she ever did…  
Brienne yawned and turned onto her back, with a sigh of pure happiness and content.  
Her dream of serving a lord she believed in with all her heart finally came true. In a few days another one of her dreams – to fight in a real war – would come true. She would ride into battle, fight side by side with her friends and risk her life for so much more than mere powerplay… She would be fight for the Gods and for the whole world as she knew it! No cause was more noble than that.  
There was just one more thing that was bothering her…

"Where're you going?"- Podrick asked as Brienne got up and headed to the edge of the forest – "His grace said no one was to go into the trees under any circumstances…"

"Well, his grace didn't keep in mind that sometimes a woman needs her privacy" – Brienne grumbled.

"Oooh! Privacy, is it?!" – one of the sell – swords laughed – "And what's his name?"

"Shut up, you pervert!" – Brienne snapped rolling her eyes, smiling secretly.

"Shut – up - you - pervert?– the man answered as everyone giggled – "Never heard of him!"

"Seriously, Brienne, orders were clear…" – another of her newfound friends said wiping the smile off of his face – "Stannis never gives instructions without good reason…"

"Don't worry about me" – Brienne answered a bit irritably – "I'll risk his displeasure"

"I hope it's only his displeasure you'll have to worry about..."

"Oh, for goodness sake!" – Brienne huffed as she stalked off into the deep snow and dark trees.

What's the worst that can happen? This is just a forest! Brienne thought grumpily as she stopped far enough away from the camp. Orders were all very well for the men, but what was she supposed to do? Relieve herself in front of the sell swords? Ask them to turn around? Ridiculous!

But as soon as she got up and started fastening her armor, Brienne discovered what exactly was the worst that could happen… First she heard a rustling in the nearest bushes and barely had time to get startled, before a giant white wolf sprung out and stood right in front of her growling ferociously, fangs bared, ears shot to sides and ready to attack. Trying to move slowly and control her fear, Brienne grabbed Oathkeeper's hilt and was about to pull it out, when she realized she wasn't the one the wolf's aggression was aimed at. The beast was staring intently over her shoulder, his graceful muzzle short and broad with fury, massive jaws ready to kill and his whole body tight like a string.

Slowly and carefully Brienne turned around to see what the wolf was threatening. Her eyes nearly popped out of their sockets, her jaw dropped and her blood froze with fear when she discovered a completely unearthly creature standing silently right behind her. It was tall and gracile, with skin white as snow and huge light blue eyes that shone like stars. Its face was similar to that of a man, but much more delicate and exquisitely beautiful. Long, shiny, white hair fell down to its shoulders, partly covering its stretched ears. The strange alien being was wearing armor that seemed to reflect the surrounding forest and changed color continuously. Brienne tasted bile in her dried out mouth as she felt the strange beautiful being radiate death and fear.

It took all of Brienne's skill to jump clear as he pulled out a long thin crystal sword that glowed with an unworldly blue light and tried to slice open her belly. His blade barely touched her armor, but Brienne felt the excellent castle – forged steel plates shatter to thousands of tiny pieces around her body. The wolf leaped at the strange creature, but was kicked back right away. The giant animal sailed several yards through the air before landing in the snow. But his attack gave Brienne precious time to pull of Oathkeeper and deflect another mighty blow from the strange warrior. The creature seemed surprised for a moment but attacked again swiftly, moving at remarkable speed, forcing Brienne on defense. Whoever he was, the alien was definitely a superior swordsman, Brienne thought as she managed to settle in and keep up her opponents pace. Soon enough, she got used to his quick and lithe style and even managed to attack a couple of times.  
Sunnedly she heard a mighty roar and caught a glimpse of the wolf jumping at another one of the strange creatures that seemed to come out of nowhere.

Dropping all pride and vanity, Brienne darted away from another stroke and screamed for help at the top of her voice. Next thing she knew, the forest was illuminated with blinding bright light and the camp was filled with raised voices. The creatures screeched loudly and shivered with what seemed like pain and fear, covering their faces with their hands and retreating swiftly into the forest.  
Brienne turned around and saw about ten horsemen trotting towards her. She saw Stannis riding at the head of the party, flanked by Black Balaq and Aros Vynirah, one of the best swordsmen in the Golden company. He was clinging closely to his horse with Lightbringer raised carefully in front of him. Their party passed Brienne without a word, in a desperate attempt to catch up with the fleeing enemy. But the strange, ghost – like beings moved extremely quickly and left no tracks in the snow, so it would've been difficult to catch them riding even at a swift gallop, let alone a trot in the forest. The wolf almost knocked Brienne over as he ran after the party and soon disappeared among the trees.  
Brienne slid Oathkeeper back in its scabbard and sighed deeply, feeling both relieved and embarrassed.  
How many times did she have to get into trouble before she finally accepted the fact that Stannis was almost always right and his advice should never be ignored, Brienne thought crossly. She really was a fool!  
Suddenly she saw Podrick trot her way, holding the reins of her horse in his hand.

"Are you all right, my lady?" – he asked, looking her over worriedly as the threw her the reins.

"All in one piece" – Brienne replied, leaping up into the saddle – "Were we ordered to follow?"

"No, everyone was ordered to stay behind and guard the camp" – the lad answered mischievously – "But I thought we'd follow anyway. You've already disobeyed his grace once, so I gathered a second time wouldn't really matter too much. Perhaps we might be of some use"

"Am I really such a bad influence?" – Brienne chuckled.

"No" – Podrick giggled – "I came that way"

Stannis cursed under his breath as he strained his eyes to detect any sign of Brienne's attackers. They had been following them closely for quite some time, but the two strange elusive creatures seemed to slip away like shadows. Stannis couldn't see clearly what they looked like, but there wasn't a breath of doubt in his mind that what Brienne encountered were White Walkers..  
Obviously the girl was a fool to disobey his orders and leave the camp, but for once Stannis was glad she didn't listen to him. Thanks to her reckless stupidity, some of his questions had been answered.  
But every answer raised a dozen more questions. What in the seven hells were they doing here?! They weren't supposed to be able to get through the Wall. Did they manage to get around it somehow? Perhaps sail around it? And why would they take such a great risk sending their scouts? And the risk was obviously great, since they conjured up a snowstorm to shield the two demons. Does the Watch know? Are the brothers of the Night's Watch even alive?

Suddenly he heard an arrow swish through the air and felt his horse collapse under him. Stannis barely managed to jump off before the animal fell and several other arrows hit Balaq's horse. The remaining sell – swords charged immediately in the direction where the arrows came from.


	10. Chapter 10

_Author's note:_ Thanks a lot for the comments everyone! They're really much appreciated))

* * *

Feeling all his instincts scream of the danger that Stannis like many experienced warriors always sensed intuitively, he raised his sword high above his head and looked around intently for any sign of the archers who seemed to have disappeared into thin air. Although every yard of the forest was illuminated brightly by Lightbringer's light, there was no doubt in Stannis's mind that the darkness was still hiding somewhere very close. Like the shadow of an ancient horror, it was creeping between the trees, biding its time, filling the hearts of the living with dread and waiting for the opportunity to strike.

"Maybe we scared them off" – Balaq whispered, looking cautiously at his men, most of whom were several hundred yards away, searching fearfully for the foe between the tall dark trees.

"They're here" – Stannis answered quietly, trying his best to detect even the smallest sign of movement.

Coming after the walkers with just ten men and then sending even that small guard away was a very dangerous gamble, verging on foolishness. But Stannis was too desperate to find out everything he could about the demons, which had crossed a supposedly unbreachable barrier, to worry about danger. The walkers moved very quickly, so he couldn't afford to lose even a second on waiting for more men to get ready and mount their horses and would now have to make do.  
There were too many questions flashing through Stannis's mind. Too many things he needed to know at almost any cost…  
Were there just two of the walkers? If so, why did they suddenly decide to fight instead of just fleeing? Were they scouts or assassins? Have they led him into a trap? Did they, perhaps resolve to try and turn their scouting mission into a destructive one? Or could it be that the walkers were at first hoping to outrun their persecutors, but unable to do so fast enough were now in danger of exposing some sort of secret? Maybe the secret of how they got over the Wall? Was it really true that the ice demons could only be fought with dragonglass or was that savvy little oaf Tarly merely lying to get himself and that wildling girl of his out of trouble?  
But whatever the answers were, the open exposure of the wielder of the Red Sword would no doubt force the hiding archers to reveal their presence sooner or later. The plan was as simple as it was risky: force the archers to show themselves, evade their arrows and charge, try to take them prisoners or engage them in single combat long enough for the rest of the party to return and help. Thus, Stannis with Balaq to his left and Vinyrah to his right, waited patiently for the rest of the sell – swords to move far enough away, hoping to all the Gods, their fighting skills would be sufficient to see them through the ordeal. Although Stannis, Black Balaq and Aros Vinyrah were all far more experienced fighters than Brienne, the fact that a swordswoman of her skill and dexterity was unable to take on the demons in single combat wasn't at all increasing the odds…

Finally the stillness of the air was broken by an arrow that swished right past Stannis's ear and landed deep inside the trunk of a nearby tree. It was shot from the opposite direction to where the first three arrows came from. The three men swung around and dodged away instinctively, but the archer was too quick for them to spot. In half a moment another arrow flew past them, ending its lethal journey in Aros Vinyrah's chest. The shot was so powerful, that the sell – sword was thrown back, falling on Stannis, knocking him over.

"Get back, you useless maggots!" – Balaq growled, jumping in front of Stannis and the dying sell - sword – "Protect the king!"

Stannis threw off Vinyrah's body and barely had time to react when he saw another arrow fly from a new point to his left. It swished right past the returning sell – swords, heading for the middle of Balaq's broad back. Stannis swung Lightbringer high above his head and just as he felt the blade hit the arrow, he heard a quiet noise similar to that of shattering glass. As a small shower of cold water landed on his face, Stannis realized that the arrows were made of ice. In a split second another two deadly pieces of it hit the ground right in front of him.

Stannis looked up and suddenly noticed one of the white walkers run swiftly through the trees, his armor merging with his surroundings, making him almost invisible.  
So there were actually two of them, Stannis thought. They were obviously trying to move around in semicircles and attack from both sides simultaneously, making it almost impossible to evade the arrows. And since they kept missing, the walkers most likely couldn't see very well in the light.

Stannis fell to the floor, successfully escaping another arrow that flew right between him and Balaq, who, having also noticed the enemy charged ahead boldly. The walker shot an arrow at him, but Balaq dodged away and attacked the demon with his sword. The walker deflected the blow with his bow, shattering Balaq's blade to a thousand tiny pieces with a single touch. Then he kicked him so hard, the sell - sword flew several yards and fell to the ground, curled up in a ball and unable to move. Fortunately for Balaq, the walker turned his attention back to Stannis, who had just managed to roll away from yet another lethal piece of ice.

Judging by the demons' pace, Stannis had no more than a second to decide the course of action. He could stick to the original plan and keep jumping away, waiting for the walkers to run out of arrows and then try to attack them. He had the advantage of the walkers' bad eyesight and could probably wait and dance around for a while yet. But even if Stannis could take on two white walkers alone, which seemed almost suicidal as his wounds were beginning to hurt again, he wasn't at all sure he could fight them with Lightbringer without doing the demons substantial harm and leave them alive and well enough for questioning. And more to the point, the sell – swords, who were trotting back as fast as they could, would be useless. Their weapons were made of steel too so the only thing they could fight with were their hands and, judging by Balaq, their chances of success against the walkers in hand to hand combat were naught.  
So there was nothing for it, but kill the demons with bunches of Lightbringer's terribly hot, inextinguishable fire. But should he miss even once and hit a tree, Stannis could easily burn down the whole forest before he even had a chance to get out and alert the rest of his men.

As he heard yet another arrow land in the snow no more than an inch away from his ear, Stannis jumped to his feet, swung around and, feeling the magic run through him and concentrating hard, sent a torrent of Lightbringer's blindingly bright, extremely hot fire at one of the archers. The walker's agonizing screech that cut through Stannis's ears like a sharp knife was immediately followed by a loud sound of shattering ice. Next thing he knew was a great white direwolf springing out of the trees and knocking him over once again. As they fell, Stannis heard an arrow swish past his ear and saw it hit the direwolf's shoulder. The beast roared with pain and fell limply to the ground. Then came another stunning, blood – freezing scream, followed by the sounds of metal scraping against ice. Stannis sprang to his feet and saw Brienne fighting the other white walker. Cursing loudly and heartily, Stannis swung Lightbringer over his head and sent another fire – column through the trees, hoping to goodness his aim would be true.  
This time the silence of the forest was shattered by two horrifying screams as Brienne tried to jump clear of the torrent of fire and the shower of water the white walker's body almost immediately turned into.

Stannis sighed with relief as Lightbringer calmed down and her fire and heat subsided to almost normal. They were all finally out of danger, the demons were dead and most of his men got through the whole business alive. Although he was disappointed at not finding out how the white walkers got through the wall, Stannis was quite happy with the valuable information they did manage to discover. Now it was clear that Tarly wasn't lying about the walkers' weapons shattering steel, so he was most likely right about the dragonglass. Valyrian steel was obviously also effective against them. The white walkers couldn't see well in the light, seemed to have a very effective technique of hand to hand combat, wore remarkable color - changing armor and, much like Stannis himself, preferred a swift and sudden style of fighting. Quite enough information to start with…

"Are you hurt, your grace?" – asked one of the sell – swords, most of whom finally managed to return to the battlefield, as he jumped off his horse.

"No. See to Balaq and Brienne"- Stannis replied, giggling at the wet and disheveled girl as she sat up on the snow, cursing and trying to wipe her face dry with her squire's sleeve.  
Serves her right for disobeying my commands twice, he thought without malice.

The men scurried away to tend to their captain, who was slowly recovering from the walker's mighty blow and Stannis turned his attention to the direwolf that was still lying limply on the snow, breathing heavily and whining quietly.

"Where in the seven hells did you come from, Ghost?" – Stannis muttered as he limped up and knelt carefully beside the huge white beast.

"Did you run away after your master's death or did those traitors throw you out?" – he asked, stroking the direwolf's head gently. Ghost replied with a little whine and looked up with sadness in his intelligent red eyes.

"I never imagined a direwolf would be so smart as to… It looks like I owe you one, boy. Let's see what we can do here" – Stannis sighed as he started to examine the arrow that was sticking out of the beast's shoulder.  
It was the strangest and possibly the most beautiful weapon Stannis had ever seen, aside from Lightbringer. The shaft was longer and thinner than most war arrows used by men on both sides of the Narrow Sea. It was made of practically transparent silvery – blue material that looked like ice and glowed with a soft, cold, flickering blue light. It's fletching was not of feathers, but of something that looked almost like giant snowflakes.  
But how was such beauty to be extracted from a wound, Stannis thought apprehensively. In the case of a normal arrow positioned that way, the maester or surgeon would enlarge the wound or pull the edges apart with hooks and pull the arrow out. His very own Willem Storm would do the same, except he would extract the arrow with an ingenious device of his own invention which he had proudly demonstrated to Stannis only yesterday morning – a special instrument that followed the shaft down into the wound and after finding the head, closed it off, allowing to extract the arrow without causing further damage to the tissues.  
But this was no ordinary arrow, which meant it most likely wouldn't be safe for a human to touch… Stannis thought for a moment and then decided to use the old, according to Storm barbaric, red – hot iron treatment with a little alteration.

"You three" – he shouted to the sell – swords standing nearby – "Hold him down!"

The men looked at Stannins anxiously as they walked over, but knelt obediently and pressed their arms onto Ghost's head, back and back legs. The direwolf, who somehow seemed to understand what was going on, whined fearfully.

"Stay still, Ghost" – Stannis said bringing Lightbringer close to the arrow and silently commanding her to increase the heat of her fire. Immediately he felt her warmth on his face and watched the ice arrow melt down in a matter of seconds. The moment he saw blood flow out of the wound in a steady stream, Stannis knew the arrowhead was melted down completely.  
Ghost tried to turn his head to lick his shoulder, but Stannis and the sell – sword held down his muzzle.

"Tamponade the wound" – Stannis told the sell – swords – "Storm will do the rest"

"They have treated wounds before, you know" – Balaq's booming voice came from somewhere above Stannis's head – "Granted, they were in human flesh, but still…"

"Thought you were paralyzed or something" – Stannis chuckled, looking up at the sell – sword captain, who was standing right behind him, still clutching his hand to his belly.

"Not yet" – he replied a bit saucily – "But may I be hanged on a liana on the Basilisk Islands if I've ever felt such a strong blow before"

"There's always a first time" – Stannis replied, pushing down with all his might as he heard Ghost, who wasn't at all enjoying the tamponade, roar angrily – "Tie the direwolf up and head back to the camp."

The fires were once again burning with a bright and warm cheerfulness and the sell – swords were sitting round them, listening excitedly to their few comrades who were lucky enough to witness the first skirmish between men and ice demons, which suddenly proved to be more than just the stuff of myths and legends. Every man from the small party was eager to add a few words to the story, but of course, Brienne was the main heroine and narrator. Moving from one fire to another and trying her best not to be too pleased with herself, she told all her friends and comrades of how she saw the walkers and how the huge wolf helped her, how she and Podirck followed the king's party through the woods, how she saw Stannis kill the walkers with Lightbringer's flames and, most importantly, how she fought the demons with Oathkeeper, although her armor and Balaq's sword were shattered to pieces by a mere touch of their ice – weapons. The sell – sword toasted and cheered her loudly and Podrick, who was sitting next to her, was basking in his mistress's glory and dreaming of a time, not too far away, when he would have a story or two of his own to tell.

Meanwhile, Stannis, Balaq and Ghost were sitting around a bonfire in a specially put up tent, waiting for healer Storm to collect his gear. Ghost was lying limply on his side, staring at the fire with tied up paws and jaws. Balaq was chatting away enthusiastically telling old Essos legends of the last Long Night and Stannis was staring into the fire and stroking Ghost's back absently. He was completely lost in thought, planning the mining and shipping of obsidian, trying to figure out a way to bring new recruits to the Wall and establish and maintain old and new supply lines.  
As usual, his original plan of taking the Iron Throne and rallying the Seven Kingdoms was destroyed by the reports of the white walkers' approaching army, which, judging by the storm and scouts were absolutely true. But how in the world was he supposed to fight them? Even with most of the North and the wildlings at his command, Stannis still didn't have nearly enough resources to stand against an army of demons that commanded another much bigger army of undead. How many people had died beyond the Wall in eight thousand years? Stannis didn't even want to try to estimate. Even if the wildlings had burned most of their dead through the years, the number was still basically infinity.  
So, if Stannis and his men were to even stand a chance against the Darkness, they would need not just all the resources of Westeros, which, by the way, were depleted considerably after almost five years of war and Cersei's appalling political stupidity. They would need the help of Essos, half of which was also in shambles, thanks to the war the Targaryen girl started in Slaver's Bay. But most of all they would need all the information on the walkers and the last Long Night they could get. Even if Stannis could command the maesters of the Citadel to work day and night on the problem, how many years would it take them to dig out and study what remained of the ancient books and scrolls? How many years would it take to gather enough data in Essos even with the Spider's vast knowledge and enormous spy network? Could the Red Woman or Thoros of Myr rally the red priests out of their temples and onto the Wall? Would they even be helpful? Not to mention trustworthy…  
Would Stannis's authority and experience and some masterful diplomacy be enough to convince the lords of Westeros to follow his example and abandon the pursuit of their immediate goals to fight for a common cause no one's believed in for thousands of years? Perhaps… Would the Targaryen girl be willing to bring her dragons to fight the Others if he sent her an envoy? Her advisors would probably tell her to kill the ambassador and claim the Iron Throne first. But if the girl was indeed another chosen champion of Fire or… whatever… as Stannis somehow knew she was, she will believe him and will be prepared to give up her own ambitions for the good of all. At least he hoped she would…  
Did she have to pay the same price for her dragons that he did for his sword, Stannis thought with a heavy sigh?  
But his thoughts were interrupted by the final arrival of Willem Storm and his huge bag of medicines and instruments.

"Damn, Brienne is telling such great stories out there, it makes me wish I had come with you" – he smiled excitedly, throwing the bag down with a loud clang of glass and metal – "I'd love to see a white walker! And fight one would be even better"

"Telling good stories, is she?" – Stannis chuckled deviously – "I'll give her something to talk about once we get to castle Black"

"I didn't know you could fight" – Balaq said raising his eyebrows.

"Neither did I" – Stannis agreed with surprise – "Since when do they teach swordsmanship at the Citadel?"

"They don't. But I can hold a sword, though not nearly as well as the two of you" – Willem replied with a cunning smile on his face – "And who said anything about swordsmanship anyway?"

"How will you fight then? With magic?" – Balaq asked almost euphorically.

"I hope you didn't damage the forming tissues too much, your grace" – Storm replied evasively as he knelt down beside Stannis.

"Him first" – Stannis smiled, petting the direwolf's head.

"What have we here?" – Storm chuckled turning his attention to Ghost. The direwolf, who hated being all tied and bandaged up, greeted him with a low growl of displeasure, that sounded more like an annoyed grumble.

"I've never seen a direwolf before" – the healer continued with an excited smile on his face - "Aren't you the beautiful one!"

"He was wounded by one of the walkers' arrows" – Stannis replied, stroking Ghost's neck comfortingly – "I thought it might be dangerous to touch, so I melted it with Lightbringer"

"Wise decision, your grace" – Storm nodded as he untied the piece of cloth that bandaged the direwolf's shoulder and removed the soaked tissue from the wound.  
Ghost gave another low growl as the healer pulled the fabric off the wound, but lay perfectly still.  
To Stannis's surprise, instead of treating the wolf right away, Storm put his right hand gently onto Ghost's wound, closed his eyes, frowning with concentration and stayed perfectly still for a minute or two.

"Looks like there's no dark magic left in the wound or in the blood" – Willem finally said with satisfaction, opening his eyes – "If there was any initially, the Red Sword must've destroyed it"

"But… there's something there…" – he continued musingly – "I don't remember direwolves being magical creatures, but I… Well, anyway!"

Stannis and Balaq watched curiously as Willem placed both his hands on the wolf's shoulder and started quietly singing a strange chant the like of which Stannis had never heard before. He was certainly no expert on magic, but had seen enough of Melisandre's rituals to recognize a spell when he saw one being performed. It sounded like a song in high valyrian, but even though Stannis spoke the language well, he couldn't understand the words.  
Suddenly the healer's hands began to glow with a sparkling light of white, silver and gold. Immediately Stannis felt a soft, comforting warmth spread around the tent, penetrating every pore in his body, filling him with complete harmonious serenity.  
When Storm had removed his hands from the wolf's body, neither Stannis nor Balaq could believe their eyes. The wound was completely gone, without even a trace of a scar in the direwolf's white coat.

"May the Shadow eat me, chew on my bones and spit them out into the reddest pit of Hell for the demons to play with!" – Balaq gasped, his mouth hanging open.

"Thank you very much" – Storm laughed as he untied Ghost's paws and muzzle. Instantly the direwolf jumped up looking baffled and not quite sure of what had happened to him. But after a few minutes of confusion, Ghost started to nuzzle Willem and lick his hands in a very definite gesture of gratitude.

"Damn… I've seen a lot of warlocks, mages, healers and other charlatans try to heal with magic in my life, Storm, but nothing… nothing like that!" – Balaq mumbled excitedly.

"Did you just call me a charlatan?" – Storm asked, raising an eyebrow – "Pull up your shirt and lie down. Kicked in the solar plexus, were you?"

"Oh, aye. And that was one hell of a kick" – Balaq replied as he obeyed – "Can you heal me with magic too?"

"No" – Storm answered after a quick routine examination of Balaq's chest and belly – "You're quite healthy as you are"

"Aww, come on! Just one touch" – Balaq pleaded, sounding almost like a child who was desperate to get a new toy – "It's not every day you get to see someone kicked by a real – live ice demon. He might've frozen my guts for all I know"

"No!" – Willem answered sternly – "Your guts are fine, just like the rest of you. And as for the demon's kick, you can go and join Brienne of Tarth in telling stories about your heroic battle. But take it easy for a while. If you start feeling any pain or dizziness or anything else, come to me at once"

"Fine" – Balaq grumbled sourly as he pulled down his shirt and put his warm doublet back on.

"And don't even think of faking anything to get the magical treatment, because if you do I'll know right away" – Storm said strictly – "And, trust me, you don't want to know how I treat inflamed curiosity"

Stannis chuckled as a very disappointed and sour sell – sword bowed and left the tent to a loud and cheerful greeting from his subordinates. No doubt he was going to take Storm's advice and add his storyline to Brienne's.  
Ghost trotted after him at first, but then sniffed the air outside and decided to come back and lie down in front of the fire.

"You're not going to ask me to heal you with magic too, are you?" – Willem asked Stannis, gesturing him to lie down on his side.

"No. But that spell or whatever it was you did, felt glorious" – Stannis replied, taking off his breeches.

"You felt it? That's good" – Storm said, untying Stannis's soaking wet bandages – "Looks like you're starting to use your own power… Oh, blast it!"

"What's wrong?"

"The wounds're festering again. They were healing fairly well at Cerwin, but now…" – Storm replied apprehensively - "Of course I expected the strain of the three day march to slow down the healing process, but not reverse it. And since the walkers are obviously indeed marching on the Wall, there's no time to treat you the normal way. I'm afraid I'm going to have to use my magic on you after all"

"The same as you used on Ghost?" – Stannis asked happily, very glad to be finally rid of the pain and weakness.

"A little different, since it's a different type of wound, but the end result will be the same" – Willem replied.

"Let me get this straight, you can heal rotting and any other kind of wounds completely with magic, but you prefer to use herbs, oils, knives and amputation instead?" – Stannis asked indignantly.

"Yes".

"Why?"

"Because magic is very dangerous" – Storm said darkly – "Even the lightest and purest magic that is healing always has huge ultimate consequences. Always. For me as well as for the patient. I never use it unless I absolutely have to"

"Consequences?" – Stannis snorted – "What kind of consequences?! Worse than death or crippling?"

"Possibly"

"This is absurd!"

"No, it isn't!" – Storm snapped – "Now lie still and be quiet!"

Stannis obeyed and soon began to feel the same intense, gentle, soothing warmth flow out of Storm's hands. But before it could spread around, Storm jerked his hand away suddenly.

"What the…?" – he gasped in surprise, looking at Stannis's wound suspiciously.

He brought his hands down and began his spell again, but stopped immediately and pulled away.

"What's wrong?" –Stannis asked anxiously.

"That's odd…I can barely feel you" – the healed replied apprehensively

"What?"

"Everyone has a sort of a…life-force or… inner fire, you might say. The energy potential that defines a person's strength, lifespan and many other things. Normally the life - force of a young, strong man like you with a great affinity for magic should be powerful and intense. But yours is so weak, I almost feel like I'm treating a walking corpse. Now it's clear why you're not healing so well…"

"Why is this happening?" – Stannis said worriedly.

"As far as I know, there are a only a few reasons for that. I need you to be completely honest with me" – Willem said gravely – "Have you ever, in your life, been in contact with dark bloodmagic or anyone who performs it?"

"Yes" – Stannis sighed heavily after a moment's pause - "For the last five years I have been very close with an asshai fire – priestess and shadowbinder"

"Oh, I hate those disgusting black – handed bastards" – Storm hissed – "How close does close mean?"

"Very close" – Stannis replied reluctantly – "She was one of my most trusted advisors. She was the one who made me believe in magic and the like. She used her power to kill four of my enemies, whom I couldn't have destroyed by any other means…"

"Did she kill with shadows?"

"Yes. And with leeches"

"Leeches?!" – Willem asked confusedly.

"Instead of sacrificing a man to perform the spell, she burned leeches filled with his blood" – Stannis explained.

"A leech filled with blood used to invoke bloodmagic?!" – Storm snorted – "Must've been some pretty strong blood. Was it yours?"

"No" – Stannis sighed heavily – "My nephew's"

"But why did she use his blood if she didn't burn him?" – Willem asked looking baffled.

"Because I didn't allow her to burn him" – Stannis snapped – "And she needed king's blood. Gentry's Robert's bastard"

Or, rather, Davos didn't allow it, Stannis thought with a twitch of remorse.

"Those red idiots and their King's blood!" – Storm snorted contemptuously– "Granted, the concept was true in times of Valyria because the highest of nobility were also the mightiest maeges and dragonlords. Their blood possessed extraordinarily powerful magic, but now… And if she was so desperate for king's blood, why didn't she use yours? That would've made sense, at least. She didn't have to kill you perform the spell, you're a king, not a bastard boy and your blood actually has magic in it"

For a few moments Stannis stared at the healer completely speechless, with his mouth hanging open.  
When the hell did he become so stupid and blind?! Assuming Melisandre wanted to burn the poor boy to achieve stronger effect, why didn't she ask him for his own blood once he forbade the burning? She used him for the shadows, why not this time? Of course a leech filled with king's blood would've been far better than one with the blood of a bastard prince. How could he possibly have missed something as obvious as that?! Was he really no better than the completely brainwashed Florents that such a clear and logical argument didn't even occur to him?

"Well… she did draw my blood for some of her rituals" – Stannis mumbled – "Maybe… I don't know…"

"What rituals?" – Storm asked gravely – "Shadowbinding? Was your blood used to create a shadow?"

"Yes, two of them"

"Two?!" - Storm gasped in horror.

"But it wasn't my blood she used for the shadows…" – Stannis added quietly – "The blood was for something else. I don't really know what…"

"Oh, Seven Hells! Please tell me you haven't fucked her!" – Willem groaned, rolling his eyes.

Stannis looked away silently. He was too ashamed of his own stupidity to look he young man in the eye, so he stared at the crackling and flickering flames instead and watched Ghost wag his tail gently as he lay stretched out in front of the fire. His eyes were serenely closed, but his ears were pricked up as though he was listening to the conversation with interest.

"How many times?"

"I don't know… hundreds…" – Stannis murmured reluctantly. It was agonizingly difficult to talk about his private life, even to a healer – "She's been my mistress for almost five years"

"Five years?!" – Willem gasped, his eyes nearly popping out of their sockets – "She's been collecting your seed and your blood for five fucking years?! Bloody hell! Why are you still alive?!"

"Probably because I am still needed" – Stannis shrugged his shoulders.

"Yes. And because your fire and your blood magic must be very strong" – Willem nodded – "The good news is, there's no dark magic left in your blood either. Not as far as I can feel anyway. So your fire will soon return to its normal intensity. Your blood should've been full of darkness since you were a willing participant of the dark rituals, but…"

"Storm, I only agreed to it because I thought magic was a last resort. I'm not making excuses, I'm telling the truth" – Stannis replied forcefully, cutting the healer off – "If Joffrey and Tommen were Robert's trueborn heirs, I'd have bent the knee and served them as faithfully as I did Robert. But they weren't. So I believed it was my right and duty to take Robert's crown, but I had no means to do so. Thanks to Robert, I was almost powerless, with no lands and no resources they provide. The only thing I had was my fleet. Just like Aegon the Conqueror I had the best mind, but the smallest force and thus the smallest odds. But Aegon had little need for armies because he had magic – his dragons. So I decided to follow his example. It was only when the letter from the Night's Watch arrived, I realized that my duty had nothing to do with Robert and the Iron throne. For some reason I was chosen to lead men against the white walkers and that is the only thing I wish to do. But I still need to control the seven kingdoms to do it. We don't stand a chance otherwise. The walkers have eight thousand years worth of corpses to raise and command. Not to mention their own numbers, their magic and the fact that winter is their domain, while we men need warmth and food and many other things"

"I'm not a military man, your grace, but if I may be so bold as to give you some advice, I think you should forget the Iron throne" –Willem replied - "And if this time you let me finish what I have so say, you'll understand why"

Stannis nodded and noticed that Ghost was now wide awake and listening attentively to their conversation, his ears pricked up highly.

"Each time the shadowbinder used your blood or your seed for her spells, your blood and soul became soiled with dark magic. And dark magic is called dark because it is one of the manifestations of the forces of destruction and it defiles all natural laws. But the nature of dark magic is a theme for another time. Once it got into your blood, it began poisoning your body, draining your life forces and even might have been strong enough to start affecting your mind. It would've done the same to the wolf or to any other living being that had the misfortune co come in contact with it. But it is one thing to be an unwilling victim and quite another to be one of the performers. And since you willingly agreed to give your blood you are just as much a performer as the priestess"

"I didn't know what she was going to do…"

"But you never tried too hard to find out either, did you?" – Storm asked gravely – "And even if you did, would you have stopped her?"

"'No' to both questions" – Stannis said honestly – "I admit, I didn't want to know what she was doing because I trusted her and was too much of a coward to face the truth. But I wouldn't have stopped her. War is war. Killing your enemies at war is different from murdering them in times of piece. Soldiers kill hundreds of men, but it doesn't make them murderers"

"That's true enough, but I'm sure you'll agree that it's a little more complicated than that" – Storm replied – "Anyway… You were chosen for the Red Sword long before the red comet lit up the sky. Even before you saw your destiny as a child in the dream you told me about. Most likely before you were even born. Your whole life you have unwittingly been learning and preparing for what you were born to do. But the Red Sword holds extremely powerful magic of the lightest and purest quality. I'm sure you know that it was created with a double sacrifice, which was made sincerely, with great love and no thought of greed or glory or whatever. And the ancient laws of sorcery dictate that the maege's blood has to be as pure as the magic he performs or purer. That's why the necromancers can't heal the poor wretches they resurrect. So if your blood had to be purified before you could find the sword…"

"Are you trying to tell me that my blood was also purified by a double sacrifice?" – Stannis asked breathlessly, feeling the pain of loss swallow him again – "When my daughter unwittingly agreed to do anything to help me and I murdered her because I believed that it was the only way to fulfill my destiny?"

"Yes" – Willem said with a little comforting smile – "If you had used your destiny as a guise for power-lust and vanity, not only would you have not been able to find the Red Sword, you would've failed to fulfill your destiny. But by making a true and sincere sacrifice of what you love most you unwittingly performed a very powerful act of very light and pure bloodmagic, which woke the power of the sword, cleansed your blood and your soul and proved to whoever is guiding you and all the rest of us, that you are worthy of your task."

"But what if I refused? What if I had chosen another course of action? What then?"

"I don't know, I'm afraid." – Storm shrugged his shoulders – "I'm no God or great maege, who has most of the answers. I'm just a man, who is only beginning to learn and understand the laws of the world. But I think you felt completely sure the sacrifice was necessary, even if your mind was battling against it as I'm sure it was"

"Well, if you ask me, your knowledge is greater than that of most maesters and priests combined" – Stannis said with notes of admiration – "What were you going to say about the Iron throne?"

"Oh, yes! The throne… I don't think you need it to fight the walkers. Of course, you're the expert on warfare and politics, but I think you had everything you needed to fight before you laid your claim to the throne. When you had almost nothing. I'm not making much sense, am I?"

"I'm afraid not…"

"Sorry, your grace. What I'm trying to say rather inadequately is that when you were lord of Dragonstone you had an island chock – full of dragonglass, men to mine it and a fleet to ship it to the Wall. And maybe that truly is all you need for a start. Everything else will come and already is coming when you need it. The northmen and the wildlings don't follow you because of your crown, but because you earned their loyalty and they know you're a great leader and general in your own right. If you needed the Iron throne to win, you would've taken King's Landing. But you failed to do so despite being the best military commander in Westeros, who can easily defeat an enemy with twenty times your numbers. Despite having a large army and a brilliant battle plan. To be honest, I first thought that might be the case when I heard Balaq discuss the attack on King's Landing with ser Ormund. They both agreed that your tactics were actually flawless and that you failed through sheer dumb bad luck. Except I believe the bad luck wasn't really bad luck at all…"


	11. Chapter 11

Hi, everyone! I'm sooooo sorry I haven't updated any of my stories for so long. I barely managed to find the time to write this chapter, so it's a bit shorted than the rest. Hope you'll enjoy it)) I honestly think Jon's murder in the series was completely ridiculous, so I did my best to make sense of it...  
I'll try to update soon. And thanks SOOOO MUCH for your reviews!

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Jon felt his soul take flight as he overtook Stannis's horse and ran ahead of the party, guiding them along the snow-covered King's Road that crackled through the old trees. Although he wasn't at all keen to get back to the place that held so many sad memories for him, Jon was moving faster and faster with every step. The feeling of muscles working under his skin, his paws burning with speed as they hit the ground and the sight of the first rays of sunlight flowing through the trees, flickering beautifully on the newly fallen snow gave him a sense of freedom and euphoria. It was a strange and foreign ecstasy he had never experienced before, but somehow it felt right and natural. As though all of his life he had been running around in the fresh, cold snow with his mouth open and his tail wagging behind him. But the happier his direwolf body felt, the more wary his human spirit got of this primeval animal joy that consumed him. It was only a matter of time before his human mind would fade away forever and Jon didn't want to lose himself any faster than he had to. Even to pleasure as great as this. But the heat of the run had caught him and held him firmly, so instead of trying to stop or at least slow down, he embraced the sun and the snow and flew forward towards the end of the great forest.

Jon could already see the foot of the hill that bordered the old forest and overlooked the rolling, snow-covered, windswept valley, which ended at the Wall. They were making good time and would reach Castle Black in a few hours.  
It seemed strange and a bit surreal to be heading north again after leaving it forever, Jon pondered. As if he was somehow bound to the mysterious icy colossus and the grim old castles that defended it. And even death wasn't enough to sever the invisible magical chain that held him.

The horses' pace quickened as Stannis and his men sent them from trot to gallop to make it easier to ride up the slippery white slope. Jon strained his muscles to keep up, but he was very keen to reach the top. To feel the bright cold sunlight on his muzzle, smell the frosty northern wind and admire the view – the shabby black roofs of Mole's Town to the left and the grey, chaotic mosaic of the numerous wildling tents to the right. Much to the dismay of Mole's Town folk he and Tormund had chosen the ruins of a small abandoned village for the wildling camp site. It was nearest to the Wall and a few half – ruined houses were far better than nothing to start with. Jon was looking forward to seeing how the wildlings, whom he came to regard as his friends, got on. Had they managed to repair the old houses and build anything new, since he last saw their camp almost a week ago? Were they at all getting on with the folk of Mole's Town? Would they join forces with Castle Black and follow Stannis if he told them to? Jon had his doubts…  
But when he finally reached the top, all the joyous anticipation was immediately blown away by the foul breath of death in the wind that rushed above the valley. Instinctively Jon shot his ears to sides, wrinkled his muzzle and voiced an audible, cautious growl. The dark, hideous stench hit his nose as hard and burned his nostrils as cruelly as the white walker's arrow that had struck his body not two hours ago. He had never smelled anything as flagrantly terrifying as the invisible cloud of fear, pain and death that hung like poison over the entire valley.

Jon could almost feel his guts turn inside out as he realized that as far as the eye could see everything was completely ravaged and covered with thick ice and deep snow. Even with his sharp direwolf eyes Jon could barely decipher the silvery – white silhouettes of a few disheveled houses left in what used to be Mole's Town to his left and the scattered, frozen – solid remains of wildling tents to the right. Suddenly he realized that the valley was covered with thousands of frosted corpses that lay in the snow like small specks of dust on a clean white sheet.

"Gods have mercy on us!" – he heard Strickland gasp breathlessly as he, Stannis and Black Balaq pulled their reigns when they reached the top and saw the barren white wasteland ahead.

"We're gonna need more than bloody mercy" – Black Balaq muttered rather fearfully as he watched the early light flicker and play on the huge icy graveyard.

"Balaq, take fifty men and ride to Mole's Town. See if there're any survivors left" – Stannis said calmly and kicked his horse again – "Fifty others come with me to the wildling camp. What's left of it. Strickland, wait here with the rest"

Jon could sense a rush of fear fly through the ranks of the sell – swords. They were more than happy to wait at the top of the hill and in no hurry to go anywhere near the silvery valley of death. Jon couldn't blame them. He could feel the fur on his back prick up as he walked slowly down the slope. This terrible genocide was obviously committed by something so powerful Jon dreaded to even guess what else it was capable of. And what it was about to do next…

As he trotted towards the remains of the camp, Jon instinctively kept as close to Stannis's horse and his magic sword as he possibly could. He could sense its radiant power flow out even through the scabbard and felt a bit comforted by the warmth. He looked up at Stannis and noticed that although his face was passive as usual, he held his left hand firmly on Lightbringer's hilt. The king was obviously just as afraid as the rest of them, perhaps even more so…

"What in the seven hells happened here?" – Jon heard Brienne whisper fearfully as she rode slowly through the remains of the camp close at Stannis's side, their horses stepping cautiously over the frozen bodies of men, women and children that lay scattered all around. Judging by the way they were lying and the look of pure terror on their faces, death came very quickly and suddenly.

"The walkers…" – Stannis answered gravely as he jumped down from his horse and knelt in front of one of the corpses.

"But how could they have done this?" – Brienne asked fearfully as she dismounted and stood beside the king, sword in hand and ready to attack if necessary – "Thousands of men frozen solid… Corpses scattered, no weapons in their hands… They didn't even try to defend themselves, did they? "

"No, they didn't"

"A surprise attack?"

"Good guess. You're not at as hopeless as I thought, Brienne of Tarth" – Stannis chuckled as he got back up.

Jon could almost see the girl's face swell up with gleeful pride at the king's rather snide compliment. Moving slowly, looking and sniffing carefully, he crept around the massacre scene, trying to solve the mystery of this terrible tragedy. He hadn't anticipated it at all and by the looks of things, neither did the wildlings. Stannis was right, the white walkers were obviously responsible for this, but how could only two of them have they wiped out over five thousand men in just a few hours or even less?! Why would they attack the wildlings? What was going on at Castle Black? Were they too late? Had the Night's Watch fallen?

His mind was racing frantically with a thousand questions when Jon suddenly heard the sounds of horse hooves sailing down on the northern wind. It sounded like there was only one horse in a hurry with a fairly light mount. He couldn't feel any danger, but still growled cautiously, drawing the men's attention to any possible threat.

"What is it, Ghost?" – Stannis asked, looking at the wolf apprehensively and feeling Lightbringer's hilt.

Jon's answer was to turn his gaze northward and growl again. And sure enough, the black silhouette of a rider soon appeared at the top of the nearest hill. Jon pricked up the fur on his withers and shot his ears to sides angrily as he recognized the figure of ser Alliser Thorne slowly trotting downhill to assess the post – massacre.

"Lord Commander!" – Stannis called as he too recognized the man and patted Ghost's head soothingly.

"Your grace" – Thorne bowed respectfully as he rode up and dismounted.

Jon bared his fangs and growled dangerously when he saw that Thorne was now wearing Longclaw on his belt. He knew this was no time for settling old grudges, but the wild wolf blood urged him to attack.

"Quite a sight, eh?" – Stannis sighed heavily.

"Indeed" – Thorne replied with en equally heavy look in his eyes as his gaze traveled around the frozen tents and over the icy corpses.

"Have you any idea of what might have happened?" – Stannis asked searchingly, eyeing the watchman's face intently – "You don't seem too surprised to see this mess, lord commander"

"I'm not" – Thorne nodded gravely – "The Others did this. They came with the storm last night"

"How d'you know that?" - Brienne blurted out.

"Brienne of Tarth, shut up and make yourself useful for a change" – snapped Stannis who wasn't at all pleased to be interrupted, especially in the middle of such an important conversation – "Report to Strickland and tell him to start for Castle Black. Send a message to Balaq to follow"

"Yes, your grace! At once!" – Brienne answered curtly, jumped back into the saddle and galloped away, followed closely by her squire.

"Well, lord commander?" – Stannis raised an eyebrow as he turned back to Thorne – "What makes you suspect the walkers? I thought they weren't supposed to be able to get through the Wall"

"No, your grace. A common delusion, I'm afraid. This isn't the first time that the Others were sighted on this side of the Wall. There've been several reports from Eastwatch… Both wights and walkers were seen by some villagers" – Thorne replied gravely – "Yesterday's storms were too thick and too dark to see what they were hiding, so I haven't got a clue how in the seven hells the walkers got over. But there's no doubt that they did"

"How can you be so sure if you didn't see them?"

"I've been a ranger for almost twenty years, your grace. I know only too well the difference between winter cold and the cold that is not winter. They came and left with the snowstorms last night"

"Are you sure they left?" – Stannis asked with a note of surprise in his voice.

"Quite sure, your grace" – Thorne nodded – "Why else would there be a second storm shortly after the first one?"

"We saw two white walkers in the forest last night, true enough" – Stannis said, deciding to open up some of his cards – "And they didn't leave. They were destroyed. It seems we were correct to assume they were scouts. But we didn't see a second storm"

"Of course not" – Thorne replied shrugging his shoulders – "Why would you?"

"When the storms came…" – Stannis continued after a pause – "There was no attack on Castle Black?"

"No"

"They didn't attack us either" – Stannis said reflectively – "They spied on us and fled when Brienne accidentally stumbled across one them. Strange… They didn't attack the obvious enemy and yet wiped out five thousand wildlings in one single stroke for no apparent reason…"

"Not at all strange if you think about it, your grace" – Thorne replied cryptically.

"What do you know?" – Stannis asked with interest, noticing that Ghost, who was growling the whole time, suddenly went quiet, sat down and pricked up his ears. There was definitely something very strange about the beast. It was just too smart and curious…

"Nothing exact, I'm afraid. All I have to offer are guesses and speculation..."

"That's the best anyone can do in these circumstances, lord commander"

"Didn't you ever find it strange that when the Wall was built, hundreds of thousands of men were simply left on the other side?"- ser Alliser asked seriously – "I think that it is naïve at best to assume this happened by mere chance. I don't doubt that the wildlings were left beyond the Wall for a reason and the Night's Watch was charged to keep them there for a reason. A very good reason, that's been lost over the years"

"Good point" – Stannis replied calmly, as he was turning over various plans for murder or suicide in his mind as a result of his shame for being too blind to see yet another absolutely obvious fact. His only consolation was that this slowness of wit was most likely due to the influence of Melisandre's magic.

"A good point that men like Mance Rayder and Mormont and Snow unfortunately failed to see" – Thorne hissed angrily – "And their stupidity will cost all of us dear. These damned wildling wretches were merely the first ones to pay the price"

"You think those three had something to do with the walkers waking up after eight thousand years?!" – Stannis asked, completely taken aback.

"The white walkers didn't just suddenly wake up, your grace. Many wildlings and even rangers would tell you that they were always awake and present in the far north. The wildlings have lived in relative peace with them for almost eight thousand years. Some of the tribes, especially the Thenns have even been known to lay with the walkers and produce half breed children. And then suddenly, about fifteen years ago, after eight thousand years of relative harmony, the walkers started killing wildlings by the hundreds and turning them into wights. And amazingly enough at just about the same time Mance bloody Raider, who believed the wildlings belong to the realms of men, began to unite the tribal forces for the purpose of getting over the Wall to finally restore justice and return to where they belong. I'm not at all sure if the uniting was a consequence of the slaughter or vice versa"

"I see" – Stannis nodded apprehensively, concentrating fully on Thorne's words for his was a vast idea that was possibly the only rational explanation for many of the strange events that surrounded them these days.

"Being the noble and romantic idiots they were, Mormont and Snow too believed that the wildlings were victims of some ancient injustice, forced to stay beyond the Wall and suffer the cruelty of the Others. But what they chose to ignore, was the fact that the Others are not at all blindly hell-bent on destruction as some legends have it. More often than not they let men of the Watch go if they meet them. For example, they let Tarly go when he met them at the Fist. When Mormont retreated from the battle at the Fist with the fifty or so survivors, the wights didn't give an effective pursuit. They followed them to Craster's keep and then basically let them go. Both Mormont and Snow knew of this, but they never wondered about the reason behind that strange behavior…"

"Let me get this straight…You believe the Others started slaughtering the wildlings _because_ they were trying to get over the Wall?"

"Yes, your grace. I believe by joining Mance in his conquest, the wildlings've unwittingly broken some kind of ancient agreement that bound them to stay beyond the Wall. And the Walkers tried to tell them that."

"Eh?!"

"Didn't anyone ever tell you that when wights or walkers kill wildlings they don't just leave the bodies randomly lying around? That they usually arrange them into some kind of strange pattern? I think it is more reasonable to believe that they do it as an attempt at communication or a warning rather than for mere amusement"

"Indeed" – Stannis nodded musingly, as once again he felt that the various pieces of the puzzle were starting to fall into place.

"It is also logical to assume that the wight's assassination attempt on Mormont, who didn't regard the wildlings as enemies, was yet another warning."

"What attempt?"

"Didn't Snow ever tell you how he came by this Sword, your grace?" – Thorne asked cryptically as he touched Longclaw's hilt – "It was given to him by Mormont after he and the wolf here saved the old man from a wight that came to his quarters in the night. Not from an army, not even from an ambush during the so – called "great ranging". From a single wight assassin"

"So, by the same logic, you assume that the wights let the defeated rangers retreat instead of killing them all as yet another warning for the Watch to stay on their side of the Wall and well out of the Others' skirmish with the wildlings? And that they didn't attack Castle Black after wiping out the entire camp because they were here to punished the wildlings… "

"Exactly"

"Didn't you share these suspicions with either Mormont or Snow?" – Stannis asked.

He didn't know the late Jeor Mormont, but Jon Snow seemed like a smart lad, who certainly wouldn't have ignored this theory even if, like Stannis, he didn't think of it himself.

"Only through hints and insinuations" – Alliser shook his head.

"Why didn't you speak up openly?" – Stannis said with surprise.

"I couldn't do that, because I suspect that the walkers have some way of spying on Castle Black" – Thorne replied gravely.

"What?!" – Stannis gasped in disbelief. The idea seemed completely ludicrous, but on the other hand…

"How else could they have known what Mormont truly thought of the wildlings and the Others? The man was very secretive and careful with his words. When Snow and Tormund Giantsbane came to Hardhome to offer the wildlings safe conduct, the walkers were already waiting for them with an army. The wildlings that fled to Hardhome after the battle had no way of knowing that Snow was coming with your ships to ferry them south. Only men at Castle Black knew that..."

"That could've been a coincidence. The walkers were obviously after the wildlings, maybe they just got to Hardhome at the same time Snow did"

"That is possible, but these are just two of many strange events that have been going on at Castle Black for some time now. Far too much smoke not to be fire"

"Perhaps" – Stannis sighed heavily as he started getting a horrifyingly clear picture – "That would also explain how the Others found out that I had the Sword and where to look for me. And why they decided to spare Castle Black after you let the wildlings through the Wall. They already knew that you saved them the trouble of wiping out the Watch by killing Snow, the man in charge and directly responsible for breaching the agreement if indeed it exists"

"It would seem so"

"But if you knew all of this, why did you let Snow and the wildlings through the Wall in the first place?" – Stannis asked, raising his eyebrows.

"I wasn't going to. I was planning to shut them out. Didn't you wonder why Snow was forced to bring the wildlings through the Wall at Castle Black instead of just taking them around the Wall by sea to Eastwatch?"

Stannis hoped to goodness he would be able to keep a straight face and not betray his rage at not noticing yet another obvious fact that was staring him in the face. Could his stupidity get any worse?! And just how bad was the Red Woman's influence on him?!

"Because you ordered Pyke to keep them out and he obeyed. So, what made you change your mind?"

"Common sense, really' – Thorne replied with a heavy sigh – "As much as I hate Rayder and Snow and as much as I want to believe that all recent events were their fault entirely, that just isn't the case at all. Rayder may have angered the Others by uniting the wildlings, but I knew him too well to believe that the idea of unity was his own. You have to remember that he was a man who had always had problems with authority. Just like Snow. The little coat – demarche wasn't the reason Rayder left the Watch. Not really. He was just too vain and stupid to really see the value of discipline, subordination and obeying orders even when they seem cruel and you don't agree with them. Snow was unlike him in that respect. I have to hand it to him, the boy was smart. He understood that freedom has nothing to do with anarchy and can never exist without order. But Rayder didn't even realize the value of discipline and subordination after you defeated him with a force twenty times smaller than his own. Even with his own life and the survival of his people at stake, he was too proud to accept your authority. He was quite literally prepared to die and take thousands of his men with him for the sake of his own stubborn vanity, which he called freedom. Could a man like that ever think of unity on his own? Never! Someone must've put the idea into his head for some reason. And whoever did that must've known what kind of forces he would set in motion. So it's only logical to think that whoever wanted mankind to start a war with the Others would've found a way to do so without Raider and Snow. They were mere pawns in someone else's game. A game that must somehow involve the red comet, the birth of dragons in Essos, the numerous prophecies of another Long Night... So, when I realized that this war is coming whether we like it or no, I also realized that Snow was absolutely right when he told us that we can either live with the wildlings or add them to the army of the undead. If we're indeed to face the Others with their magic and eight thousand years' worth of corpses at their disposal, we need all the help we can get"

"So you decided to add the wildlings to the army of the living and sacrifice Jon Snow to make the Others think that we're not at all happy with his orders" – Stannis continued with a hint of admiration in his voice – "Well played, lord commander"

"Yes, but unfortunately now it doesn't mean shit" – Thorne huffed, looking around the disheveled camp.

"Oh, I disagree" – Stannis replied, drawing his magic sword – "The wildlings' massacre might actually be more helpful to us than they could have ever been alive. They may not be in the army of the living, but by the seventh pit of hell, they won't join the ranks of the walking dead either"

"Get back, all of you!" – Stannis shouted as Lightbringer's fire flared up, piercing the sky like a giant shining spear.


	12. Chapter 12

The first rays of sunlight touched the horizon and danced on the old grey walls of Winterfell. Swirls of sharp icy winds howled through the towers and battlements flapping the Stark banners and sending piercing chills down to Sansa's bones as she stood alone at the window of the Broken Tower. She shivered as the prickly cold bit her flesh and bones, but she didn't seem to notice as her gaze was fixed northward.  
All she could see was the field where not so long ago Stannis' small army met Ramsay's forces, the vast forest that lay behind it, stretched out as far as the eye could see and the clear blue – grey sky with golden rays of sunlight flickering through the air. Yet somehow Sansa knew that far, far to the north, above the blue ice of the Wall the sky was covered with storm clouds. Thick, leaden, impenetrable clouds that were fighting the high and bright southern sun for every inch of the heavens and the earth below, foreshadowing the upcoming battle. The first battle of the War…  
Like a small black speck of dust a lonely raven was circling among the storm clouds, croaking and crying, as if searching desperately for something. Sansa was wondering what could be so important for the bird to brave the howling and churning icy winds above the Wall when suddenly she felt something cold and wet touch her hand. Her strange chain of thoughts was broken as she jumped with fright and looked down.

"Shaggydog?!" – exclaimed Sansa as the huge black direwolf nuzzled her hand again with his wet patchy black - and- pink nose.

"What are you doing here?"

The wolf whined quietly and stared at her with fear and sadness in his glowing dark – green eyes.

"Where's Rickon?" – Sansa asked feeling her gut sink with dread. A cold, deadly, merciless feeling that, sadly, had become very familiar – "Where's your master? Is he here?"

Suddenly the wolf turned around and trotted through the half – broken doorway and out the room. Sansa rushed after him, doing her best to keep up, but Shaggydog was way too fast for her. She was only halfway down the stairs when Sansa saw the end of his tail disappear through the ruins of what used to be the entrance to the old tower. Cursing her slowness, Sansa made it down to the bottom as fast as she could and ran out into the courtyard. She looked around frantically in search of the accursed beast, but the world around her seemed to be blurred into nothing but dark silhouettes on a smoky white canvas. Sansa's heart leaped to her throat as she saw a thick milky mist quickly spread through the courtyard, swallowing the whole castle and filling every corner of it with a shadowy white darkness. As the strange fog began to close in around her, Sansa felt her soul freeze and body go numb with a murderous, surreal fear the kind of which she had felt only once before, when she was standing at the entrance of Bran the Builder's tomb in her dream. Sansa could swear she felt life in the sticky and heavy bone – white vapor. It was stroking her body as gently as a tender lover or a versed tormentor, silently speaking to her in some unworldly language she could never understand, telling her of something she dreaded to even imagine…  
Suddenly Sansa spotted the black silhouette of the direwolf trotting away towards the center of the castle. Gathering all her courage and lifting her skirts up to her thighs, Sansa darted after Shaggydog's shadow as fast as her shaking legs could carry her. The mist seemed to get thicker with every step and soon Sansa could hardly see anything beyond the end of her nose, but like all Starks, she knew every stone and corner of Winterfell and could easily make it across the entire castle with her eyes closed if she wanted to.  
As her four – legged guide passed the huge dark shadow of the First Keep on his left, the barely distinguishable entrance to the Crypts on his right and slipped through a small gate in the inner wall, Sansa realized that Shaggydog was taking her to the Godswood. She stopped for a moment and held on to the thick old bars of the iron gate to catch her breath. The barely visible shadow of Shaggydog seemed to also have stopped to wait for her. The silent whispering of the fog mixed with the quiet rustling of the ancient trees, as though they were inviting her to enter the realm of Old Gods to see whatever lay ahead. Whatever she was supposed to see…  
Sansa gulped down her fear as she stepped over the threshold and followed the direwolf through the misty white darkness that lay heavily on the old forest. Shaggydog had slowed down his pace and Sansa was thankful to be able to walk. But a big part of her soul wished she could turn around, run out of the Godswood and never see it again. Sansa had always believed it to be a sacred place where her ancestors use to come to pray for over eight thousand years, but now she could really feel its power come to life. Every tree she passed, every grain of earth she stepped on, even the very air she breathed was alight with old – world magic. As if the terrifying veil of thick milky – white mist had awoken the Old Gods with its silent whispers.  
After what seemed like hours of wandering between the old trees, Sansa finally began to distinguish the contours of the dark, and perpetually cold pool and ancient weirwood heart tree. Strangely enough, the weirwood was far more legible than the trunks of all the other trees, in spite of its bark being white as bone. Enormous wafts of smoke rose from the black waters of the strange pool and Sansa realized that it was the source of the thick milky vapor that by now had no doubt swallowed Winterfell whole.  
Sansa could feel the long and melancholy face carved into the huge trunk stare at her searchingly, as though questioning her reasons for being here all alone, in the heart of the ancient forest, surrounded by old – world magic.  
It was right to question her resolve, Sansa thought fearfully. This strange haunted corner of the castle was the last place in the world she wanted to be, but she would go to the ends of the earth to find Rickon and Bran if she had to and Shaggydog did lead her…

"Where's Shaggydog?" – Sansa whispered in horror as she realized that the direwolf was nowhere to be seen.

Suddenly she heard splashing and spattering somewhere in the center of the fuming pool. As Sansa strained her eyes to see through the veil of mist that rose from the pitch – black water, she heard a faint and feeble cry for help. Her heart did a backflip as she realized that she had found what she was looking for.

"Rickon! Hold on, I'm coming!" – she yelled at the top of her lunges and jumped into the dark fuming water.

As she dove down, Sansa felt a thousand icy daggers pierce her body. She gritted her teeth and tried to find the bottom with her foot, but the pool turned out to be deeper than she had imagined. Sansa gasped for breath as she surfaced and began to shake as the bitter cold bit her mercilessly, but the soft, feeble cries of her little brother who could barely swim in a bathtub let alone a deep pool of icy water drove her on. Moving as quickly as she possibly could, Sansa soon reached what she believed to be the center of the pool, but Rickon was nowhere to be found. The vapor was so thick, Sansa could barely even see her own hand if she raised it out of the water. But she could still hear Rickon's cries, which seemed to come from all directions at once.

"Rickon!" – Sansa screamed as loudly as she could.

"Sansa!" – came her brother's desperate cry – "Help me!"

"Keep calling!" – she screamed back, happy to hear that he was still alive, but panicked because she couldn't make out where his voice was coming from.

Seconds passed like hours as Sansa swam around the pool, desperately trying to find Rickon. But no matter how many times she called his name, no matter how many times he answered her, she couldn't see him or reach him.  
Soon enough Rickon stopped answering her calls. She screamed his name again and again as she swam around the pool, but to no avail. She was trying her best to keep the pace, but with every minute her body moved slower and slower. After a short while Sansa's strength began to fail her and her body started going numb. Hot tears of anger and despair ran down Sansa's freezing face, but she wasn't ready to give up just yet.  
She was so close! She couldn't possibly abandon her search. Not while she had the smallest hope!

"Rickon can't be dead" – Sansa said to herself stubbornly as she kicked with all her might – "He's lost consciousness because of the cold. I'll pull him out and he'll be alright"

Suddenly the milky vapor that covered the surface of the pool started to rise in the air. Sansa looked up in surprise and saw that all the mist that had oozed out of the icy black water and spread through all of Winterfell was now flying back quickly, driven by some unseen force. She stared in horror as the enormous white cloud grew even larger and thicker by the second and rose higher and higher. In just a few moments it was hanging like a woolen blanket over the Goodswood. Then it started to move again, rearranging itself into some kind of form.  
Sansa threw back her head to take a better look at the strange cloud that was now shaped almost like a snake. But her heart suddenly stopped beating as she felt a cold hand grip her shoulder. She gasped and spluttered when she turned and saw Rickon, pale as snow staring at her with blank blue eyes and gripping her arm tightly. A terror that felt far colder than even the icy black waters of the pool ran through Sansa's body as she looked into the still face and dead eyes of the creature who had once been her brother. Next thing she knew was the sound of a raven croaking loudly above her head and a sickening feeling of falling at high speed…

Sansa jumped up in bed, breathing heavily, her heart pounding out of her chest and her face wet with tears. For a moment she couldn't make out where she was and looked around in confusion. Rickon, the freezing pool at the Godswood and the mist – covered Winterfell suddenly melted away like a dream, making way for a rather small and plain, but tidy room that was strangely warm and familiar.  
Sansa sighed with relief as she realized that all the horrors she had just witnessed really were nothing more than a dream. Just a nightmare conjured up by her imagination. And that she was safe in her chambers at castle Cerwin, where for the past three days she had been waiting for the northern lords on Stannis' orders after the king himself had left for the Wall.  
Still feeling a little shaken by the terrible nightmare that no doubt was brought on by an unfortunate combination of anxiety for her brothers' fates and a little too much hot wine she had had last night with ser Ormund and lady Jonelle, Sansa lay back onto her soft fur – covered bed and tried her best to relax every muscle in her body.  
She smiled as she remembered the enjoyable evening she had had with ser Ormund Wylde, who was bored with "sitting around doing nothing" and lady Jonelle who was getting a little too fond of ser Ormund's company as far as Sansa could tell. After everything she had gone through, it felt so wonderful to just be able to sit peacefully in front of the fire with a glass of wine in her hand, listen quietly to Wylde's stories about his exploits in Stannis' campaigns and watch lady Jonelle's rather clumsy attempts at flirting with the man.  
Perhaps it would be a good idea to speak privately with ser Ormund, Sansa thought cheekily as the cozy warmth of her bed caressed her body.  
It wouldn't hurt to give him a hint that if he would only think of something besides his beloved king Stannis and take just a little notice of their hostess, he might end up with a castle of his own and a good wife to come with it.  
Not a very nice way of putting it of course, Sansa chuckled to herself, but it's not her fault she'd been spoiled by Cersei's bad influence. And house Cerwin did need an heir. And it was her duty as Wardeness to take care of her vassals…

Sansa yawned sweetly and stretched out lazily on her soft, warm bed. She was in no hurry to leave it and brave the cold air and even colder floor of the room, but it would never do to laze the morning away. For every moment spent idly is a moment thrown away as septa Mordane used to say.  
Although Sansa had always been a model student, right now she was sorely tempted to follow Arya's bad example and rebel against her old tutor's rules.  
There was so little time left for her to be happy and carefree, she thought with a heavy sigh. Her bannermen had answered the king's call and were due to arrive shortly. The Mormonts, the Glovers, the Umbers and the Wulls in less than a week and the houses of the northern mountain clans could be here almost any moment. And she would once again have to leave the peace and quiet of this small remote northern castle to face a war with an army of demons that hadn't been seen for eight thousand years. Although, strictly speaking, her warriors would be the ones facing the demons. But she would do all in her power to help them as befits a lady and a Wardeness.

Rather reluctantly, Sansa got out of bed, tiptoed across the cold floor to the window and opened it.  
The first rays of sunlight touched the horizon and danced on the snow –covered trees around Cerwin. Swirls of sharp icy winds blew through the forest and the castle walls, flapping the Stark and Cerwin banners. Like a small black speck of dust in the clear sky a lonely raven was circling above the castle. Sansa shivered as a blow of sharp cold wind rushed into her room and bit at her skin. Suddenly she began to register a squeezing feeling in her stomach. Somehow, that peaceful, even idyllic picture seemed a little too familiar…  
Her heart sank as once again the feeling of an idea that wasn't her own spring to mind swept over her, bringing a terrible clarity to her brain and breaking her heart. Somehow she knew with merciless certainty that the dream of Rickon crying desperately for help in ice – cold black water and then staring at her with dead blank blue eyes was no dream… And whoever showed it to her wanted her to know that…  
But Bran had told her that both he and Rickon were safe! Was that a lie? Was it even Bran talking to her?  
No, it was not a lie, she felt herself think. But the world changes every day…  
What power was toying with her, Sansa thought angrily as she felt a strange, cold and powerful force hold her mind and read her thoughts.  
She resented having ideas being planted into her head by some unknown creature and didn't want her heart and mind to be manipulated. Her very soul was sick with fear of the unknown and unwelcome ancient force of magic that was swiftly and surely making its way into her life. It may have been lifesaving at Winterfell, but the more Sansa thought of it, the more she hated it.

Sansa shook her head in defiance and to her astonishment felt the unearthly power loosen its grip and quickly withdraw from her head.

"Well, at least that 'thing' or whatever it is knows when it's unwanted" - Sansa grumbled quietly – "Good riddance!"

Her eyes swelled with tears as the terrible message of the strange force truly began to sink in.  
So little Rickon was dead too. Another member of her family gone into the void long before his time. Frightened, desperate, screaming for help that would never come while slowly dying of cold. Just like poor Arya must've done… all alone in the harsh wilderness of the forest covered mountains of the Vale…  
Sansa knew she would never get used to this sharp, hollow pain that replaced a part of her soul every time she thought of her lost family. It wasn't possible to accept their deaths.  
What had they ever done to deserve all this suffering, Sansa thought bitterly, wishing she hadn't shooed away that strange force. She would dearly liked to have at least some kind of answer. They may not have been the smartest or the most astute people in the world, but the Starks of Winterfell were good. She knew they were! They were honorable, just, kind, loyal, caring…  
Why was all of that not good enough for fate to just leave them alone, Sansa asked the world as she wiped her tears. What crimes were they paying so dearly for?! Or maybe there was no reason at all… Maybe things happened just because they happened and people just had to live with it.

For a while Sansa stood motionless in front of the open window, letting the fresh, cold air sting her skin and slowly dry her tears. The cold somewhat calmed down her agitated spirit.  
A wolf of the North! She was a wolf of the North, who had to carry on the work of her pack. But who could possibly the strange creature toying with her mind be? Was he friend of foe? Or neither?  
Could it be that the old legends of greenseers and their powers were true after all? Were the Children of the Forest indeed gone from the earth or just in hiding?  
Bran the Builder was said to have lived with the Children for a while and have learnt many of their secrets, Sansa remembered suddenly. She had spoken to him in her mind at Winterfell…  
But Sansa's meditation was abruptly disturbed by a knock on the door.

"Come in" – said Sansa as she quickly grabbed a robe that was hanging on the pole of her bed and wrapped it around herself.

"My lady" – Mansy the maid said meekly as she came in and curtsied – "Forgive me for disturbing you, but ser Ormund Wylde said it was urgent"

"It's all right, Mansy" – Sansa smiled kindly – "What it is?"

"This came just now for you from Greywater Watch, my lady" – the maid replied as she handed Sansa a small scroll with a broken seal – "Ser Ormund thought it was something for the king, so he…"

"Never mind that now" – Sansa waved dismissively as her eyes traveled through the lines of lord Howland Reed's small, neat handwriting. Most of it was the expected congratulations on getting rid of the Boltons and pledges of loyalty and Sansa was beginning to wonder what on earth made ser Ormund send her the note with such urgency. But then her heart leaped to her throat as she saw the words "Grieve not for your brothers' ill fate, My Lady, for they are not dead".  
So, Brand and Rickon were traveling north of the Wall with Jojen and Meera Reed. To what point and purpose he didn't know.

"… Jojen is skilled in arts that I myself regrettably cannot understand and explain. And Meera is as fine a warrior as any in the North" – lord Howland wrote – "Be not afraid, my lady, they are in good hands"

"Oh, lord Howland" – Sansa sighed painfully – "If only you knew what I know…"

"Mansy, bring ink and paper" – she ordered as she folded the scroll and put it away into the pocket of her robe – "I need to send a message to his grace at once"

"Yes, my lady. At once, my lady!"

Well, I'll be damned! Stannis thought excitedly as his gaze traveled quickly through the ranks of the watchmen, kneeling before their acknowledged king in the courtyard of Castle Black.  
His arrival was sudden, in the wee hours and almost half a day early, Thorne was absent from the castle and couldn't possibly have given his men advance notice and still most of the garrison was present to greet them, armed and lined up perfectly. The courtyard was cleared of snow, most of the buildings within sight repaired and uniforms worn as neatly as possible.  
Was this disciplined, unified force the same lax, disheveled herd of rabble he had seen at Castle Black not two months ago, Stannis thought not quite believing his eyes.  
Lord Commander Thorne was obviously a firm disciplinarian and an experienced officer, who knew how to manage his forces and worked his men hard to make sure they were prepared for anything that came their way.  
No wonder he is ill – liked, Stannis thought with a twitch of his lips.

Stannis dismounted nimbly and saluted the watchmen.

"Most impressive, lord commander" – he told Thorne as he dismounted after Stannis – "Dismiss your men, they have work to do"

It is nothing less than a blessing to have an astute and seasoned officer like ser Alliser in charge of the Night's Watch for the impending war with the Others, Stannis thought as he watched Thorne give the orders in a perfectly practiced command voice.  
If he had indeed won the man's loyalty as Thorne claimed he did then Stannis could safely say he had the full power of the Night's Watch at his disposal. He had no doubts that Thorne would follow his instructions to the letter, but at the same time keep his men in order and control the mood currents whatever they might be. Which was far more than Stannis could say about Jon Snow. Although Snow was a smart, honorable, naturally good and noble young man who Stannis was genuinely fond of, he was completely unreliable. Too proud to truly obey, too kind and fond of his men's affection to maintain firm discipline and, like all Starks save one young girl, not nearly shrewd and cautious enough to control the company's mood and survive among smarter enemies. And his death was the best proof of all those points...

"Where are ser Davos and princess Val?" – Stannis asked as his eyes searched the once again busy courtyard. He was dreading the inevitable meeting with his friend ever since he sent him away to Castle Black to parlay with Jon Snow. Would Davos ever really understand Stannis' reasons for making the biggest sacrifice of his life? Would he ever call him his king and friend again?  
And as for Val… although Stannis knew perfectly well that the young woman despised and hated him as much as she could possibly despise and hate anyone, for some reason his heart would stop in his chest whenever he saw her.

"Ser Davos is away, your grace"

"Oh?"

"When we learned that the enemy's army was marching on the Wall, ser Davos rode immediately for Eastwatch with the wildling princess and Tormund Giantsbane. He means to sail to Scagos to get as much obsidian as possible and, with their help, rally the natives to our cause. They left four days ago and if everything goes according to plan should return in a day or two"

"Good" – Stannis nodded calmly, trying his best to ignore the sickening feeling of worry - "Storm!"

"Your grace?" – the healer came running through the crowd of dismounting sell – swords, who were once again being welcomed rather warmly by the Night's Watch.

"Lord Commander, allow me to introduce healer Storm" – Stannis said as the men shook hands – "I have recently appointed him chief surgeon of my armies. Although he doesn't have a chain, his knowledge and skills by far exceed those of all the maesters I've ever known. He shall help maester Aemon and his stewards with their duties while we're here at Castle Black"

"Maester Aemon has recently passed away your grace. And Tarly was sent to the Citadel by Snow to get a chain and replace him as the maester of Castle Black."

"Do you mean to tell me that Snow sent Tarly to the Citadel to become a replacement for Aemon and left Castle Black without a maester for at least four years with war at our doorstep?!" – Stannis asked, raising his eyebrows in complete surprise.

"Yes your grace" – Thorne replied with a slight twitch of his lips.

"What was the idiot planning to do with the sick and wounded? Kill them off or hire a woods witch to treat them instead of Aemon?" – Stannis snorted. There could be no doubt the boy did it as a favor to his friend, but this ridiculous decision was yet another perfect example of how unprepared Jon had been for his post.

"I wouldn't be surprised if he was" – Thorne chuckled maliciously.

"I trust you've already sent a request to the Citadel for a replacement?"

"Certainly. I've asked them to send maesters for every castle that was supposed to be regarrisoned by the wildlings, so with any luck we'll soon have six maesters. Also, one of our men used to be a hedge wizard. Hardly a worthy substitute for a maester, but healer Storm will have to make do with his help"

"We'll manage" – Willem replied casually.

"Good"- Stannis nodded – "I trust you won't object to Storm taking over maester Aemon's quarters and his workroom for the time being, Lord Commander?"

"Of course not, your grace. Begging your pardon, will the northern lords be joining us anytime soon?" – Thorne asked hopefully.

"As soon as they assemble their forces" – Stannis sighed – "But their numbers have been reduced by more than a half after the Stark rebellion, so don't be too pleased, Lord Commander. If their combined forces reach five or six thousand, I'll be slapping myself to make sure I'm not dreaming. But right now we're on our own. See that my men are properly settled, I'll send for you later to discuss the raid we planned on the way. In the meantime, healer Storm and I have to pay a visit to an old friend…"

Melisandre was sitting limply on the frozen floor with her legs pressed tightly to her belly, her head resting on her knees. Thorne made good of his promise to make her as uncomfortable as possible, locking her in a small sell on the lowest level of the castle without any light or heat, without even a bunk to sleep on.  
No doubt the fool meant to torment and frighten her, she huffed contemptuously as she thought of the half – cracked bowl of frozen grub her jailor had left by the door last morning.  
As if she would even flinch from what they believed to be hardship! Those mortals knew nothing! None of them did!  
Praise to the Lord of Light, it had been ages since she had any need for food or warmth. Her eyes were long used to darkness. And sitting in this freezing, bare little dungeon could be considered a luxury compared to quite a few things she had seen and been through in her time.  
She could've used her spells to charm the foolish jailor and make him set her free, but decided against it. She didn't wish to leave the Wall, so there was no point in antagonizing the Onion Knight and the Lord of the Watchmen. And playing the repenting sinner, suffering for her crimes would surely help her win back her king's favor. Of course, Stannis wouldn't be happy about her leaving him in the darkest hour. But there was no doubt in Melisandre's mind that he would forgive her. No matter what the Onion knight said, her Stannis needed her. He needed her knowledge and her magic and her belief in him. Especially the latter. That much she knew. Soon she would be free again to stand beside Azor Ahai and bear his banner when the time came to face the Others. And that time was near. Too near… But now she would wait. She was patient… she could wait…  
But being locked up in a black stone cage while old magic was stirring in the earth and air and forced to do nothing with darkness approaching was hard. Even unbearable. Her strength was all but drained by endless hours and days of waiting in the dark without her fires and her prayers. She counted seconds until she could finally see her Hero and the Light of his Sword, planned and rehearsed carefully everything she would say and do to win his forgiveness.

Melisandre stirred as she suddenly heard footsteps, followed by voices outside her sell. Her heart leaped with joy as she recognized them. The first was the wheezy, low – pitched rattle of the jailor that Mel was sick of hearing. But the second, deep and sonorous, was dear and long hoped for. Her king had come and her agonizing wait would soon be over.  
Suddenly she heard a third voice, young and live and fiery. It was unknown to her, but there was no mistaking those purring tones and flowing intonations that could only belong to a Child of the Shadow. In Asshai she had heard both their men and women speak many different languages of the world in different voices, but the cat – like, soft sharpness was always the same. But what in the world could one of them be doing here, at the Wall? And why was he with Stannis? Were her senses playing tricks on her?

Mel jumped to her feet as she heard the key turn in the lock. She squinted as her sell was lit up by a torch.

"Your grace!" – she cried in her sweetest voice and smiled her most charming smile – "I have prayed day and night for the Lord to allow me to see you again"

"Have you?" – Stannis replied calmly as his lips contorted into a devious little smile.  
The jailor hung his torch on the wall, bowed and left the sell, shutting the door behind him.

"Words cannot express how wrong and guilty I am…"

"What did you take my blood for?" – Stannis asked in an icy tone, cutting her off.

"I have wronged you, I know that, but when…" – Mel tried again, this time with less confidence her well – rehearsed speech would work. Stannis had changed since she last saw him, she could feel it. His gaze, his posture, everything was the same and yet completely different. There was less hardness in him, yet more power. Less grim, yet more presence.

"What did you take my blood for?"

"Don't even bother your grace" – spoke the unknown voice – "She won't answer you. I wouldn't have either"

Melisandre turned her eyes away from Stannis and looked curiously at its owner.  
Her senses weren't playing tricks on her after all, she thought as she saw the man leaning carelessly against the door, his arms crossed on his chest.  
Never in her wildest dreams could she have imagined seeing one of his kind so far from the mountains of the Morn. He was young and, like most of his people, beautiful. Tall and lithe, with high cheekbones and pale skin that glowed golden from within. His eyes of molten gold were big and cat – like and glistened dangerously in the flickering firelight. His hair was pitch – black, his movements soft and graceful.  
"Bright as Flame, dark as Shadow" were the words the asshaii used to describe the children of the Shadow or mountain clansmen of the Morn or tiger – men of Stygai.  
But strangely, the man spoke the common tongue without an accent.

"Who are you?" – Mel asked searchingly as she felt his intense gaze pierce her being. She sensed magic in it. A strong and fiery power the like of which she hadn't felt in hundreds of years.

"We'll ask the questions here, woman" – Stannis said coldly – "What did you use the blood you drew from me for?"

"To worship the Lord of Light, your grace" – the priestess answered after a heavy pause.  
She was wary and suspicious of both Stannis' questions and his strange companion. Was he a priest too? There was magic in him, but how much did he know of it? And how well was he able to use it?

"Oh, really?" – the young man huffed – "I'd say you stole the king's blood to fuel your own powers and help you maintain that gorgeous glamor you have on"

"What?" – Stannis asked, raising his eyebrows as he saw the woman flinch momentarily with fear.

"Who are you, child of Shadow?" – Mel whispered fearfully. Her glamor was strong, perfected with years of work and woven perfectly with very old magic. No one had ever been able to see through it before. No one was supposed to.

"I hate to tell you this, your grace, but this glorious beauty, this shapely, graceful form is nothing more than a disguise. A mask, woven from blood and darkness" – Will replied with a cheeky little smile.

"Would you like to see the truth behind it, your grace?" – he continued more seriously after pausing for a moment, allowing the king to take the information in – "Although I should warn you. I doubt it's going to be pleasant"

"Do you think it wise, boy?" – the priestess asked threateningly as the ruby on her choker began to glow – "Taking on a servant of R'hollor, the best in her order?"

"Do it" – Stannis nodded, holding his breath. He had no idea what might happen or what he might see, but in any case the bitter truth was better than the sweetest lie. And he needed to know the strengths of both his mages.

The ruby burned Mel's skin as she called upon her strength and concentrated hard. She couldn't possibly let her guise fall for it would ruin everything. If Stannis lost his trust in her then all her efforts will have been in vain and she would fail to fulfill her destiny. The destiny for which she'd given up far more than she could ever explain to anyone…

The priestess saw the young man nod obediently. She felt the world stand still around her as she watched him approach her and raise his hand… and screamed as he ripped off her mask. Her whole being was twisted, torn and pained as she felt a force of pure fire flow through her. It was so powerful and intense, it burned and burst her from within. She was overflowed, overstretched and about to explode like a sack that tried to fit a whole field of grain inside itself.  
The pain died down as the man stopped his magic and stepped away from her. But a new wave of bitter, helpless agony overwhelmed the priestess as she saw Stannis blanch and recoil in complete horror and shock. Mel let out a sob and turned away, covering her face with her hands.

"Who… What…" – Stannis gasped, trying his best to compose himself as he stared, wide – eyed and breathless at the walking corpse in front of him.  
The priestess' beautiful, shining white skin was suddenly grey – green with a huge black spot on the back of her neck that went down and hid under the scarlet robe on her back. The brightness was gone from her deep red eyes that became clouded and blank. The shape of her young, full body, however, seemed unaffected.

"This creature in undead" – Willem said gravely – "And by the looks of thinks has been so for quite some time"

"She hid her true form with the glamor and kept her body young and strong with blood and seed" – he continued calmly – "Your blood and seed to be exact. And those of other men before you"

"You will die for this, boy!" – Melisandre screamed with rage as she turned around and threw suffocating black smoke at the healer. Her ruby was glowing brighter than ever before and the skin under it was smoking.

But before the deadly puff could reach its destination it disappeared in a flow of shining light of white and gold and silver, which came from the young man's hands. Before either Mel or Stannis knew what was happening, he jumped at the priestess swiftly and suddenly, like a pouncing predator. He grabbed her arm with one hand and her ruby choker with the other.  
Stannis watched with amazement as the priestess twisted and screamed in agony at the touch of Storm's magic and the tightly fastened chain, which didn't have a clasp and couldn't be removed without breaking it, slipped off Melisandre's neck effortlessly.  
She fell to her knees, groaning and screeching as the young man's magic continued to flow through the room.

"Force of Fire, do as you will" - he whispered quietly as his fingers stroked the beautiful red stone. Suddenly it flung itself open, revealing a small hidden cache behind it. Inside was the bone of a distal phalanx of a finger.

"I'll be damned" – Will gasped as he stared in awe and horror at the medallion – "Where did you get that?"

"What is it?" – Stannis asked worriedly. He had never seen the young man so shocked.

"That, your grace, is stolen magic…"


	13. Chapter 13

_Author's note_ : I don't think there's a definite concept of time in Westeros, apart from the fact that their days, weeks and months are roughly the same length as those on earth.

So, here's my version of a westerosi calendar: 7 day week - 28 day moon. With 13 moons and 364 days each year.  
Day and date are the same each month each year.

* * *

"Stolen magic?" – Stannis asked perplexed, looking from Will to Melisandre, who was lying limply on the floor.  
The magic was all but gone from her body and she had spent so much of her energy on fighting the maege, she could barely move.  
The Maege… She never thought she would ever see anyone worthy of this ancient valyrian word in its true sense again. Not after the Doom… And yet, here he was.  
As Melisandre looked up cautiously, she felt her throat choked with bitter pain and humiliation. There was no thrill of victory, not even a small glimmer of pride on the young man's face. As if their fight didn't even happen… He was engrossed in her medallion, twisting it curiously in his hands. Mel had no doubt he had forgotten all about her lying helpless and defeated at his feet. And the jewel that held her power, the purpose of her life and her very soul was no more than an oddity to him.  
Of course he had forgotten all about her, she thought bitterly… Of what possible consequence could a feeble upstart like herself be to such as him… A man with what the old texts called "blood of pure Fire", who was so blessed by the Lord of Light he had no need for faith or prayer. A man, who could summon great powers with a single word and command them to do his bidding effortlessly.

But why… the priestess thought desperately as her chest tightened and her throat burned with tears she was unable to shed… why would the Lord of Light gift that arrogant, callous youngster with a power that hadn't been bestowed on anyone for hundreds of years?! What had he ever done to earn such grace?

"Aye" – Storm replied breathlessly as he examined the medallion. Although it had been removed from the priestess' neck, the ruby continued to emit a soft red light with every touch of Willem's fingers. The bone seemed to be floating on thin air inside the cache and did not shift when the medallion was turned over – "This is the darkest, but also by far the most powerful form of necromancy"

"You've seen this… this abomination before?"

"No one has seen this kind of sorcery for hundreds of years, your grace" – Storm replied excitedly – "Archmaester Marwyn told me he once saw a shadowbinder attempt such a ritual in Asshai. It didn't go well. But theoretically, the performer is supposed to summon the spirit of a dead sorcerer and bind it to an object. I do not know how exactly the ritual is performed, but it requires a bone or a lock of hair to be taken from the grave of a mage and soldered into some object that belongs to the future wielder. Once the process is complete, the object will allow its master to use the power of the spirit. The bone probably serves as a material source of magic, that's why the ruby glowed when she did her spells…"

"That's similar to bloodmagic, isn't it?" – Stannis asked aghast, but curious as he also stared at the magical medallion.

"It is, but this is much, much stronger" – Storm answered almost euphorically, his eyes fixed firmly on the choker – "And much darker. Drawing magic from living blood is easy, even she can do it. Binding the dead on the other hand…"

Will knew that as a healer he should've been repulsed, disgusted and frightened by such darkness. And he was… He could already feel the cold, sticky filth of death cling to his fingers and slowly spread through the room as he continued to touch the undead creature's undone choker. But at the same time he could not help marveling at the sheer mastery of the mage that could create a thing like that and the incredible power and complexity of the required spells. They were breathtaking even if they did violate every law of gods and nature.

"And… a maester told you all of this?" – Stannis raised his eyebrows in disbelief as he watched the healed close the magic locket.

"Marwyn is no ordinary maester. He is the Archmaester of Magic at the Citadel and has spent years traveling the east, researching its numerous cultures, learning languages, creating maps and searching for magical knowledge. He even claims to have studied several years with all sorts of warlocks in Asshai and I believe him. No westerosi knows more about magic than Marwyn the Mage"

Except, perhaps, me, Will wanted to add, but decided that modesty is the best policy.

"Archmaester, indeed" – suddenly came a quiet, malicious hiss from the floor – "If you would lie, boy, you should do it more convincingly"

"What?!" – Stannis and Will asked simultaneously, snapping out of contemplation.

"You are no more westerosi than I am" - the priestess continued weekly, but confidently as she sat up – "Even less so…"

"What do you mean?" – Stannis asked, trying his best not to shudder as he looked down at the decaying corpse again.

"Whatever this man told you about himself is a lie, your grace" - Melisandre replied viciously – "He is a child of the Shadow, born and bred high in the mountains of the Morn above Asshai"

"What are you talking about?" – Will huffed, sounding confused – "I was born at Storm's End. I studied healing at the Citadel and have never been further east than Volantis"

"You are lying! You may have fooled his grace, who has never seen a tiger - man before, but I have walked beyond the edges of the known world with them. I would know your kind anywhere" – the priestess smiled insidiously, turning her gaze on Stannis – "Their appearance seems completely ordinary to anyone who has never seen a child of the Shadow. But lay eyes on them once and you will recognize them instantly. I beg you not to trust anything he says or does, your grace. For the Shadow Men's souls are as dark and treacherous as the Shadow itself"

"Says the galmored walking corpse with stolen magic" – the young man snorted.

"Be quiet Storm! What is all this nonsense about shadow men and tiger men or whatever they are called?" – grumbled Stannis, who wasn't at all pleased to see yet another magical secret unfold before his eyes. He had no reason to doubt the young healer yet, but he had to admit, there was something very strange about his vast magical knowledge and exceptional powers.

"Have you ever seen eyes like that, your grace?" – Melisandre asked enthusiastically, hoping against hope to restore at least a little of her king's trust in her – "That peculiar dark – golden shade and cat – like shape?"

"I don't believe so"

"You haven't because it is easier to find eyes of targaryen lilac or dark purple than this rarest shade. This is just one of a few characteristic features that can only be found in one place among one people. Among a tribe of Shadow Men who are called Tiger – men. They live in the mountains of the Morn, deep in the heart of the Shadow. That tribe is said to be as ancient as the Shadow itself, perhaps older and they are the only people in the world who can walk in the Shadowlands unmasked"

"This is ridiculous" – Strom huffed – "I was born at Storm's End on the twenty first day of the thirteenth moon of the year 274 AC, there are records of that at the harbor sept. My mother Maya Storm was a tavern wench at a small inn called the 'Old Oak' on Old Dovecote street. The innkeeper's name is, or at least was, Anthor Tyde. He witnessed my birth and childhood and could testify that I am who I say I am. So can anyone at the Citadel, where I spent almost fifteen years of my life first as a servant, then as apprentice. So can the lysane alchemists and slavers and volantine nobles…"

"No westerosi that ever lived could possibly have such power in his blood" – the priestess hissed stubbornly – "Not even his grace. Even though he wields the Sword of Heroes his magic is not as strong as yours and you know it. And neither was the Onion Knight's or even Jon Snow's! You couldn't possibly have learned from some measter because there is one place left in the world after the fall of Valyria where magic of that power can be handled and it is Asshai…"

"The power of that sword is way beyond your scope, filth! As is mine" – Willem spat contemptuously – "I am a healer, what could I possibly learn in that damned city of darkness?! I've never tasted the dark arts even when Marwyn offered to teach some of them to me and I never will. My magic is light and pure and my own. I didn't steel it from any man, dead or alive and I do not need to fake my spells with herbs and powders hidden in unseen pouches like your lot do…"

"I did not steal my magic either. You know nothing, boy!" – Melisandre croaked bitterly - "And you should not take pride in being powerful enough to avoid cheating. That is no accomplishment of yours. What have you ever done to deserve the power that was gifted to you? You dare not judge me!"

"Magic isn't a gift. It is passed from ancestors to descendants through blood. You cannot deserve or not deserve to have it, you just do. What matters is how you choose to use it…"

"Choose?" – the priestess screeched viciously – "You dare talk to me of choosing? You've never worked a day of your life to have the right to choose your own path. Your power flows free and effortless, you can do anything you want with it. I have worked day and night for countless years to learn and master every aspect of my art. I have suffered everything a woman could possibly endure from being orphaned and enslaved to being starved and raped and beaten within an inch of my life. All for the sake of serving the Lord of Light"

"All for the sake of arrogance, you mean"- Will replied calmly – "That art is not yours. You should've been a teacher, a paraclete or whatever you priests are supposed to be. You should've been proud of that. But being just like everybody else wasn't enough, was it? You wanted power. But you had no magic of your own, so you stole another's and damned not just your own soul…"

"I did not steal it!" – Mel cried with desperate rage – "I paid the price! I paid for my magic with my life and soul! Look at me! I am an undead being, whose body rots and dies around her every day. I cannot have the joys of mortal men. Food has no taste, my body has no feeling and colors slowly turn to shades of grey in my eyes. My world is death, decay and ashes. But even that is better than being a slave, bought and sold by anyone with enough gold. Only two things burn brightly in my darkness – the Light of the Lord and the mission he gave me. I cannot fail him!"

"And what is this mission?"- suddenly came Stannis' calm voice – "As you see it. Tell me the whole truth for once"

"I've always told you the truth, your grace. Yes, I used a glamor to conceal my true appearance, but you can see why I had to do it" – Mel replied honestly – "My mission is to fight for the Lord of Light. To find his chosen champion, Azor Ahai reborn, and light the fire of the Lord in him. To gift him with Lightbringer, stand by his side in the battle for Life and die for him…"

"Oh, please" – Willem snorted, rolling his eyes – "Who do you think you are, some kind of Nissa Nissa?"

"What in the seven hells are you on about, Storm?" – Stannis asked confusedly.

"You know the legend, your grace. Azor Ahai drove his blade through his beloved wife's heart" – the young man replied with mock gravity, clutching his hands to his chest – "And the fire of Nissa Nissa's heart set the Hero's Sword ablaze, thus creating Lightbringer and saving the world"

"So?"

"So… She was the one who came up with the idea of your new sigil, wasn't she?" - Willem laughed – "The stag inside the fiery heart. She brought you the fake Lightbringer and convinced you to create a huge bonfire and draw the sword from the wooden statue. Too bad, it was all fake, it would've been a beautiful legend. Azor Ahai and his beloved Nissa Nissa saving the world together and all that… Eternal love and legendary heroism… It's all so sweet, I might just cry. "

"Shut up! That heart is supposed to be a symbol of the Red God" – Stannis snapped feeling thoroughly embarrassed. He hated to admit it, but it didn't even occur to him that the fiery heart upon his banner could be seen in such an obvious and humiliating light. In fact, he barely gave the symbol any thought at all. When the priestess first suggested he should change his sigil, both she and the Red God were nothing more to him than a means to an end. But after that… when the unknown force of Fire defined his true destiny and the priestess charmed his soul with her sweet lies, the meaning of the fiery heart was the least of his worries.  
He would never fly that banner again, Stannis determined angrily. He would destroy every piece of cloth, every shield, every chevron and breastplate that still bore that damned sign of lies, darkness and deception. He was a servant of Life and Fire, not of some vicious red demon, whose favor was not earned, but bought with sacrifices.  
There would be only one sigil in his camp…

"But until now you weren't completely sure I was this reborn hero, were you?" – Stannis asked searchingly, concentrating on the interrogation again – "And you knew that the sword you gave me wasn't the real Lightbringer, otherwise why would you glamor it? And it was glamored. Through the ruby in the pommel"

"I was completely sure until the siege of Winterfell, your grace" – the priestess said, lowering her eyes – "When the sell – swords left and lady Selyse… died after the sacrifice I thought I was wrong about you"

"And it didn't occur to you to wonder why the sell – swords would take all the horses except yours?" – Stannis chuckled deviously – "So gallant of them to leave you with a means to escape quickly if need be"

"You planned it!" – Melisandre gasped as the realization hit her.

"Of course, I planned it"

"You were testing me… And I failed…"

"That you did" – Stannis shrugged his shoulders – "But that doesn't come close to the enormity of the rest of your crimes. But enough of that… What about the sword?"

"I believed the sword I gave you would become Lightbringer in your hands, your grace. It is an ancient sword from a place of great power. I kept it safe for many years, so one day I could return it to its rightful wielder. When its magic didn't wake at your touch, I thought I hadn't fully understood how it was supposed to work or that the magic might just not be obvious. So I glamored it to make others believe what I knew to be true"

"What kind of truth requires a lie for men to see it?" – Stannis spat scornfully.

"The truth of magic, your grace" – Storm answered unexpectedly – "It is not always obvious when performed. In fact sometimes it takes a mage to see the magic. For example, dragons can be seen by anyone, but you would have to put a glamor on a real hellhound to make men see the hellhound. I don't know why it works that way, it just does. So she wasn't all that wrong to glamor up the sword"

Melisandre looked up at the young man with surprise. She expected him to scorn and mock her, not back her up like that. Perhaps, it would not be too difficult to work with him. They did serve the same king after all. And in time, if all went well, he could be turned into a very useful ally. Her knowledge combined with his power… they'd be unstoppable! That is, if she herself would ever be in a position to even offer him such an alliance. Which at the moment was doubtful at the very best...

"Your grace" – the priestess whined pleadingly – "I know I have done wrong, but I beg you to allow me to stay with you and serve you. There is nothing I want more than to fight beside you; I gave up my life and soul for that. I haven't doubted you but once. I have never failed you, my magic has served you and my visions have guided you..."

"Your guidance and magic have made me a murderer" – Stannis said icily – "Both of my brother and my men. Your visions guided me to a crown I was never meant to have and would have jeopardized my mission. You never saw the threat beyond the Wall until ser Davos came with the letter from the Watch"

"I only saw what the Lord of Light chose to show me" – the priestess replied solemnly – "My visions were all true. I did misread them, but all men error…"

"I have no wish to blame you" – Stannis continued calmly – "You gave your council, but I was the one who took action. The decisions I made were mine and mine alone. And only I will answer for them"

"But you do blame me" – Melisandre replied gently – You blame me for your daughter's sacrifice. And you have every reason to be angry, but it was necessary. You know it was!"

"You were right about the sacrifice, but wrong about the reason. You offered me to sacrifice my daughter to buy my victory from your god. And had I listened, all would have been for nothing" – Stannis sighed heavily – "True sacrifice is selfless. I took my daughter's life because I knew in my heart I had to do it to save the realms of men. And she, however unwittingly, agreed to make that sacrifice. I did not sell her soul for a crown. I do not know which entity you serve, but the higher power I fight for cannot be bought or bribed. It gives its guidance and protection to those who serve sincerely and with no thought of gain"

"My king, there is only one Lord of Light and Fire and we both serve Him…"

"No, priestess, there is not. Not every fire brings Light and life and warmth. But you don't understand that and you never will"

"My king, the Lord of Light sent me to you…"

"And I am grateful for it. To him and to you. You have helped me see the truth and taught me more than I would ever tell. But I cannot have you fighting by my side."

"You did not bind me to yourself and so you cannot release me" – Mel said defiantly – "Only the Lord of Light can do that! I am His servant just like you and I have a mission just like you. Cannot you see that by refusing to accept my help you jeopardize us both? You never would've gotten anywhere without me and so you cannot move on without me!"

"But how did you know it was me you were supposed to serve?" – Stannis asked suddenly with a devious gleam in his eyes, his blood boiling with rage – "Did the high priest send you to me with a glamored sword like he sent Thoros of Myr to my brother?"

"No, your grace" – the priestess replied a bit confusedly – "I saw my destiny in the flames. I asked the Lord of Light to tell me where the Sword was hidden and who was Azor Ahai and he guided me to you. I saw Dragonstone…"

"But how could you be right about me being on Dragonstone, but wrong about the sword? And why would the flames show you where the sword was hidden long before they told you who was supposed to wield it?"

"With your permission, your grace, I think I have the answer to that" – Will once again joined the conversation – "She couldn't see Azor Ahai in the flames before she found the sword because she couldn't see anything in the flames before she found the sword"

"That's exactly what I thought" – Stannis nodded complacently.

"That place of great power you got the sword from… It wouldn't just happen to be the same grave you stole the bone from, would it?" – Will chuckled meanly as Melisandre flinched.

"Is that why you stole magic?" – Stannis asked almost breathlessly – "You read something about the prophecy and decided you wanted to be the one to deliver the sword to Azor Ahai? To fight with him and win eternal glory?"

Melisandre didn't answer. She sat silent and motionless on the floor, staring at the wall.

"You weren't chosen for the mission, were you?" – he continued gravely, bearing down on her – "You chose the mission for yourself. So it is not the Lord of Light who bound you to it. You are not one of the 'chosen', you are a liar and a thief, who traded soul for power and life for arrogance. You do not dare tell me I need you or that we are the same!"

For a moment Stannis stood silently, watching the creature on the floor. What should he do with her, he wondered, trying to think as clearly as possible and ignore all the anger, hurt and grief burning his soul. The creature was plainly guilty of so many terrible crimes, he shouldn't hesitate to condemn her. Yet she had done so much for him and taught him more than he could ever explain to anyone. Yes, the priestess fooled him, misled him, stole life from him, lied to him and betrayed him in more ways than one. But Stannis could honestly say she'd 'made' him by showing him he could be more than Robert's awkward younger brother, destined to serve him and shiver in his shadow, all the time praying for a kind word or a second glance and never getting any. She was a blind, cruel and manipulative fanatic, who sold her soul for power and yet her bravery and conviction to fight for what's right were genuine and heartfelt. Her beliefs were dark and twisted, but somehow she still led him to the truth and taught him to believe in something greater than himself. She was undead and bound to earth by darkness and bloodmagic, but Melisandre had acquainted him with many pleasures of life and taught him to enjoy them… She'd been his queen in all, but name, yet she never loved him and did not hesitate to leave when it suited her. And, strangely enough, that only hurt his vanity and didn't touch his heart. Because, in truth, he never loved her either… And last, but not least, she obviously had much more knowledge about the Long Night than she had ever shared with him. For instance, she knew that Lightbringer was hidden in a grave. So…

"I forbid you to fight for me, priestess. I forbid you to use magic on my behalf. But if you wish to stay here, by my side and serve the way I allow you to, you may do so" – Stannis sighed heavily and paused to watch both Mel and Will stare at him wide – eyed and perplexed – "You will tell me everything you know of the last Long Night, which, I believe, is a lot more than just common knowledge… and you will help Storm and Tarly with their research. Disobey me once and you will go back to Asshai or taste Lightbringer's fire"

"Your grace" – the priestess whispered as she fell to the floor and touched his boot with her forehead – "Thank you! I will obey"

"Storm, give her back the medallion" – Stannis snapped as he jerked away from her – "Glamor yourself up. Once you're done, the jailor will set you free"

With that he turned on his heels and left the sell quickly. Will grabbed the torch and ran after the king, slamming the door behind him.

"You think I was a fool to let her stay, don't you?" – Stannis asked as he and his companion headed to the stairs that led to the upper levels of Castle Black.

"No, your grace" – the young man smiled – "I was surprised at first, but I think you were wise to let her stay. There is so much we need to know, not just about the Long Night, but also where she got the sword from, who performed the binding ritual for her, whose magic she uses… Whoever the unfortunate spirit was, he must've been somehow connected to both the last Long Night and the impending one. And he must've been a very powerful Maege with very light magic since, in truth, it was he who guided you to the Red Sword through those visions of hers"

"And…" – Will continued with a rather dreamy smile – "She was right… It may be light and pure or dark and treacherous… but fire is still fire"

"Couldn't have put it better myself"

"Which reminds me…" – Storm mumbled and put his hands together.

Stannis jumped as he suddenly saw Storm's hands light up with a cold silvery flame. He looked on curiously as the healer rubbed his hands together and scrubbed his forearms as if he was washing them with fire.

"Bloody hell" – Stannis huffed when Storm shook off the flame and it disappeared before it reached the floor.

"It's a rather simple cleansing procedure" – Will smiled gleefully, trying to sound matter – of – fact – "My hands were soiled with dark magic when I touched the medallion and that shit isn't something that should be left on or in the body"

"So, you lit your hands up with magical flame? From thin air, just like that?"

"Aye. I told you, your grace, it's easy to light a fire with magic. Even the red priests can do it. Of course, they can only light ordinary fire. Magical fire requires more skill and power. But, as you know, any type of fire is still fire"

"I believe you said something about the red priests using some kind of herbs to cheat?" – Stannis asked curiously.

"Yes, your grace. They usually keep them hidden in small invisible pouches in their robes. Marwyn deal quite frequently with the red buggers and taught me quite a bit about their tricks. And if you'll allow me to go through the priestess' things, I think we'll find quite a few of those powders" – Will replied cheekily – "I might even find some useful ingredients for my potions"

"Be my guest"

Some sorceress! Stannis thought grumpily as he sat on the bed in Melisandre's chambers and watched Will's dexterous hands search through her chest. It broke open easily with the help of a poker and contained numerous pouches and bottles, but to Storm's disappointment, it was three quarters empty.

"Oh! Hello!" – Will chuckled as he took a pinch of red powder from one of the numerous pouches that. He rubbed it between his fingers and smelled it – "And why would a beautifully glamored thing like her keep the 'Red Rapture' in her pocket, I wonder?"

"'Red Rapture?'"

"Aye. Or at least I think that's what it's called. It's been a while since I learned to make these…"

"These… what?"

"Powders, used to create smoke that affects the mind in different ways or to produce some quite thrilling illusions. They're very expensive, but also very easy to use. Their effects are brief and intense, which makes these 'little helpers' very popular with warlocks, pyromancers, mummers and other charlatans, who claim to be some sort of sorcerers. The recipes of these powders are kept secret by the alchemists of Lys, who developed them a couple of hundred years ago"

"If they're secret, why did they teach you to make them?"

"We had a bargain. I treat them and their slaves when they're sick and in return, they teach me to make some of the powders. The alchemists make thousands of different powders, but I only learned about the ones that affect the mind" – Will continued enthusiastically – "One pinch of the 'Red Rapture' thrown into the fire or lit up with a bit of very basic magic you've just seen me perform, will create a very thin, barely noticeable, but very potent smoke that will drive a man or woman wild with lust. It's used extensively in the legendary lysane pleasure houses"

"And the others?" – asked Stannis as he picked up a small bag of yellow powder.

"This one's called the Ghost of Marahai. It's essential ingredients are saffron and rattleroot. It's extremely rare and very hard to get because rattleroot only grows on the island of Marahai in the Jade sea, hence the name. The smoke is used to invoke fear. The purple one is for truth and the charming black one that she tried to use on me back in the sell was supposed to cause a fatal constriction of the throat muscles. I don't know about the rest. Must be for some kind of illusions"

"Try this one" – Stannis said mischievously, picking up a pouch of brown powder and throwing it to Strom.

Obediently, Will took a pinch and placed it on his palm. Both he and Stannis jumped with fright as a column of green flame erupted from his hand and flew up into the sealing, screeching horribly.

"Damn" – Stannis cursed, clutching a hand to his chest as his heart rate slowly returned to normal – "Try another one!"

Will chuckled and grabbed a pinch op light pink powder. It turned into blue flame when he lit it.

"Uninteresting one" – he chuckled as the fire disappeared.

"I think I've seen her work this one" – Stannis replied musingly – "So all of those pretty fires she claimed to be magical were mere illusions, created by these powders kept conveniently hidden in sleeve pockets?"

"Looks like it"

"Cheap carnival tricks for smoke and mirrors, powders for feelings and stolen bones and body fluids for magic… If she's indeed the best in her order, how bad is everybody else?!" – Stannis grumbled meanly.

"To be fair, she's actually pretty good" – Will replied, diving into the chest again – "It takes a lot of time and practice to use your own magic, but mastering someone else's must be a lot harder. You can't really feel what you're doing, you can't communicate with it… Must've taken her decades"

"How old do you think she actually is?" – Stannis said cautiously. He had an eerie feeling he would regret asking that question…

"No clue, I'm afraid. She's undead, so natural laws don't apply to her in the normal way" – Will shrugged his shoulders – "I'm no expert on un – death, but I think it slows flesh decay substantially, but doesn't reverse it. She's pretty far gone, so I'd say she might be a couple of hundred years old"

"Oh, gods!" – Stannis groaned squeamishly – "Is there some kind of spell or powder or something that could partially wipe memory by any chance?"

"I'm afraid not" – Will replied compassionately – "I'm sorry, your grace. But… there's no way you could've known"

True, but somehow it didn't make him feel any better, Stannis thought feeling a little nauseous.

Suddenly they heard a brisk knock. The door opened and Ghost trotted into the room followed closely by the lord commander.

"Forgive the intrusion, your grace" – Thorne bowed deferentially – "But I've just received some disastrous news from Eastwatch"

Ghost came up to the chest and sniffed the powders. Immediately he sneezed and shook his head.

"Nothing tasty here, boy" - Will chuckled quietly and petted the wolf's head.

"What news? Davos was unsuccessful?" – Stannis asked, feeling his gut turn with worry.

"I think you'd better read it yourself, your grace" – Thorne replied apprehensively, handing Stannis a small folded scroll.

It was a letter from Cotter Pyke to inform the Lord Commander that ser Davos' mission to obtain obsidian and rally the Skagosi to the Wall had failed miserably.  
Davos, Tormund and Val had made it safely to Eastwatch and were pleased to find Stannis' ships still docked safely at the harbor, but the fleet of Salladhor Saan had left Eastwatch a day before their arrival with no intention of returning. The seas were stormy and Pyke and ser Davos were forced to wait two days before they could set sail. They set of on two ships – Davos' "Black Bertha" and the "Raven", a ship of the Watch. When they finally got to Skagos the sea was riddled with dead bodies, the settlements destroyed and every square inch of the island covered with thick blue ice. They did not see who or what had done this, but there was little doubt that the Others were behind the slaughter. The sailors spent a day searching for survivors, but all they found were thousands of frozen bodies. Among them was the corpse of a young boy, dressed in southern – style clothes and, next to him, a black direwolf. One of the men who used to be a servant at Winterfell identified the boy as Rickon Stark. His brother's body wasn't found. The sailors brought the boy and the wolf back with them, to be buried south of the Wall. But in the night both he and the wolf rose a wights and killed five sailors. After a struggle both of them were burned and the ashes scattered in the wind. They successfully made port at Eastwatch and if all went well, ser Davos, Val and Tormund would be back at Castle Black in three days and Pyke was waiting for the Lord Commander's instructions.

"So the Stark boys are dead after all" – Stannis sighed heavily - "And Skagos is chock – full of wights, so no obsidian any time soon"

Ghost, who was lying on his belly with his eyes closed, enjoying Storm's fingers scratching his neck and ears suddenly yelped and lifted his head up.  
"How many wildlings were there on the island?"

"Fifteen thousand give or take" – Thorne said gravely – "But Scagos might not be entirely lost, your grace. Wights can't be killed by metal or obsidian, but fire is fatal for them. The fire from your sword can easily burn an entire field of corpses in ten minutes…"

"Aye, and while I'm roasting wights at Skagos the Others attack the Wall and you don't have either the obsidian or the fire to fight them. You said yourself the Others can extinguish ordinary fire" – Stannis replied, shaking his head – "This is a diversion"

"Then we send a company with torches lit with Lightbringer's fire" – Thorne suggested – "Slow and dangerous, but it'll be quicker than waiting for a shipment from Dragonstone"

"Aye, it will" – Stannis nodded musingly – "Two thousand sell swords and a hundred rangers to guide them should be sufficient"

"I don't have a hundred rangers, your grace" – Thorne chuckled sadly – "There were five hundred and eighty eight brothers alive after the battle and only seventy two of them were rangers. The rest were mostly stewards. Fifteen more rangers were killed at Hardhome. Out of the remaining fifty seven forty four are green boys with no more than a couple years of service behind them. There are only thirteen more or less seasoned rangers counting myself left at the Wall. So, three experienced rangers and twenty youngsters is the best I can do"

"Twenty three rangers it is, then" – Stannis sighed heavily – "Storm, make sure two ravens are ready to fly tonight. One to Cerwin and one to Dragonstone. I need to know how ser Roland's getting on with the mining and lady Sansa should be informed about her brother's fate"

"Yes, your grace"

"Ser Alliser, I'll need a few night's watch uniforms and four experienced rangers tonight. I don't want to risk the life of yet another lord commander, so you'll lend your valyrian steel sword to the ranger of your choosing" – he continued – "If the Others are near, they'll surely send a small scouting force. I'd like to get acquainted with them. I need to observe them myself"

"If your grace is planning a nighttime mission to observe the Others, you'll need all the ranging experience you can get" – Thorne said with a crooked smile – "No one knows the Haunted Forest better than Buckwell, Smallwood and myself"

"Thorne, the Night's Watch is useless without you leading it and holding it together" – Stannis shook his head.

"And if you get killed, the whole fighting force of Westeros will be useless" – Thorne replied.


	14. Chapter 14

Jon jolted his ears irritably as the booming sound of several thick iron cauldrons crashing down onto the wooden floor followed by the nasty high – pitched sound of shattering glass assaulted his hearing. He still hadn't quite got used to his newly acquired direwolf sensitivity and couldn't help being annoyed by lights too bright, sounds too loud and smells too strong. And right now the maester's apartments seemed to be filled to the brim with all of them as Clydas, maester Aemon's old steward, and Arne, the former hedge – wizard sent by Thorne to replace Sam as the maester's second steward, were busy tidying up and rearranging the little wooden keep to its new master's satisfaction. But those nuisances were nowhere near annoying enough to make Jon leave the warm sanctuary of the little old keep. He wanted… no… needed to stay here for at least a little while. From the earliest days of his service, the maester's chambers had been a heaven of welcome warmth and wisdom for Jon. An island of calm and propitiation among the gloom, filth and treason of Castle Black, where he could always find genuine, heartfelt friendship and wise council. Although none of his friends were there anymore, the warm and dusty air of the little keep filled with happy memories seemed to calm him down. And calm was what Jon needed most at the moment as his heart and mind were drowning in a vicious concoction of pain, anger, hatred, guilt and regrets… Pain of loss of his brothers, who'd escaped the traitor Greyjoy only to be murdered by the Ice demons just like hundreds of his wildling friends … anger towards Thorne for betraying him not just through mutiny, but by concealing vital information that was alas proving to be crushingly correct… but worst of all, hatred towards himself for being a fool so blinded by his feelings for Ygritte, Mance and Val and Tormund and every other wildling he used to call a friend, he didn't even think of wondering what their quarrel with the White Walkers and the South might really be about… How could he not have thought to ask himself and them what really happened between the wildlings and the Walkers to breach an eight thousand year old peace? How could he not have tried to see things through the eyes of the outsider he was? He didn't know what he could possibly have done differently as there was no question of him abandoning the wildlings to slaughter, and yet… If only he had had the sense to use his head instead of just his heart, he might've come to the same conclusions Thorne did. And if he hadn't been so vain and stupid, he would've learned and listened more instead of playing the hero, who at all times knows best. Ygritte was right… he knew nothing! Now thousands, including himself, were dead because of his ignorance and stupidity and the White Walkers were less than a few days away from the Wall… A barrier that could not stop them…  
What in the world was he going to do, Jon thought grievously. He had to do everything in his power and much more to fight the darkness of the Ice, to make amends for his mistakes and to avenge his friends and loved ones… but what could a wolf really do? Fight? That went without saying… Scout? That would be brilliant, except he had no way to really communicate with anyone…

Jon sighed heavily as his stomach sank with a hollow feeling of being all alone without a friend in the world to turn to for council and comfort… How he wished Sam and maester Aemon were still here to guide him! How he yearned to sit down with them in front of the giant stove which provided most of the heat in the maester's chambers and feel the soothing warmth of fire and friendship… But they were gone… and he was dead… and the normally tidy little keep filled to the brim with colored bottles, dried herbs and queer devices was at present being rapidly transformed into a complete mess that looked like a battlefield after a hundred years war. The air was filled with old dust flying out of goodness knows where as beds were being moved, cupboards emptied, instruments revised and every last corner of the keep cleaned and cleaned again on the new chief surgeon's orders. Willem himself was presently scouring the larder, which was just next door to the workroom, taking stock of all the dried herbs and powders and throwing out quite a few, claiming them to be too old, too useless or too something. One huge pile of what Storm deemed to be junk was already sitting right in front of Jon waiting to be thrown away.  
Is there going to be a single thing left alone in here, or is he going to throw out everything, until there's nothing left but bare stone walls, Jon wondered with a low angry growl as he watched yet another bottle fly out of the larder, hit the wooden floor with a clang and roll through the doorway. What did the man think he was doing?! Had he no honor or respect?! Seizing control of the measter's keep, uprooting everything and everyone in it, completely disregarding the old routine and previous inhabitants… Of course war, especially a war with the Others was no time for sentimentality, but Jon was still enraged to see many of the old bottles and strange contraptions that used to lie about the apartments when they belonged to maester Aemon being thrown away. Perhaps they really were junk, but to Jon, as well as many others, they were memories. Precious, warm memories of an old, beloved teacher, a mild and quiet hero who'd devoted his life to the Watch and a dear, dear friend…  
As if he hadn't lost enough already, it seemed that even memories were to be taken from him, Jon thought bitterly.

"Seven hells" - grumbled old Clydas as he traipsed across the room to fetch a small cauldron that was quickly rolling towards the corner as if trying to escape being stacked and stashed into the cupboard again – "The smallpox on that bastard!"

"Be quiet, you old bat" – hissed Arne, who was busy sweeping the floor.

Well that certainly seems accurate, Jon huffed to himself.

Clydas really did look like an old bat. Or a mole. Ugly as sin, he was short, bald and fat. He had a big round belly, small rounded shoulders, no neck and no chin. His face was all wrinkled with a few warts here and there. His eyes were small and pink, his beard and mustache sparse, his head big and bald, save for a few grey hairs sticking out. Arne, on the other hand was a tall, skinny and reasonably good-looking man in his early twenties. Huge light grey eyes dominated his long, narrow and clean-shaven face. His dark red bushy hair fell messily down to his shoulders.

"Who does that whelp think he is, swaggering about as if he owns the place" – Clydas continued grumbling, completely ignoring Arne as he picked up the little cauldron and slowly made his way back to his cupboard – "Coming in here, making us turn the place upside down..."

"He is the Chief Surgeon of the king's armies" – replied Arne, shrugging his shoulders - "Apparently he's to be in charge of all our maesters as well"

"King's armies, my arse" – the old man huffed irritably – "Our maesters've always been brothers of the Night's Watch. What business does some fuck – knows – who have being in charge?"

Although Jon was grateful to Storm for healing him and didn't doubt his talents, he couldn't help agreeing with old Clydas and wondering if Stannis'd made the right decision in trusting a young man nobody really knew with strange and strong powers no one could understand. Why was he here? What was he truly after? Where did he really learn his craft? Whose was the fire, flowing in his veins? Did Stannis even ask himself those questions? Or did he decide to use the sorcerer's powers to his advantage and just go with the flow? A foolhardy decision… to say the least… One would've thought the king had learned his lesson with the Red Priestess!  
But then again… who was he to criticize, Jon thought maliciously. The king was presently alive, with the Red Sword of Heroes in hand and an entire army behind him and Jon himself was dead, treacherously and foolishly murdered by his own men. And although he still had no doubt most of the Red Woman's words and visions were nothing more than lies and smoke and mirrors, she did turn out to be right about Stannis in the end… which made Jon wonder, what would have happened had he heeded her warning instead of thinking he knew best… Or Stannis' warning for that matter…

"Well, times've changed" – Arne sighed heavily as he leaned on his broomstick – "If the Lord Commander says he's in charge, it's not for the likes of you and me to question. We may not like it, but we are men of the Watch and we must obey. Besides, you know as well as I do, we'd all be dead without Stannis and his armies"

"Changes, changes…" – grumbled Clydas - "There's too much damn changing of things that don't need changing around here if you ask me. First that damned king comes with all them foreign sell – swords. Then that wildling – loving little bastard Snow gets the Commander's cloak for no good reason…"

"Hey, Jon was elected fair and square. Maester Aemon himself voted for him. And he deserved it much more than Thorne did!" – Arne replied angrily. He'd always been one of Jon's friends and loyal supporters, from his very first days as a brother of the Night's Watch.

"Aye, and next thing ye' know, he's got himself stabbed to death. Fair or not, the bastard wasn't much of a Lord Commander. And maester Aemon, may he rest in peace, really ought to have known better. Fetching the damned wildlings from Hardhome and letting that damned king do whatever he wants…"

"What was Jon supposed to do, just let the Others take them all?! And Stannis is the rightful king by every law of Westeros, he saved us all and…"

"And no sooner than we got rid of Snow" – Clydas continued his rant, completely ignoring Arne's arguments – "We get ourselves another weird little bastard! That half – maester or whatever he is… coming in here with all them fancy foreign notions, ordering us about, throwing away maester Aemon's stuff and callen' it junk… We've used those herbs for years and we've never needed more than three cauldrons on that damned stove. But no, he's gonna change everything"

"Ssshhhh! He will hear you" – Arne hissed cautiously, turning his head to make sure Storm was still safely in the larder and too busy to listen.

"I don't care if he does!"

"You will care very much when he turns you into a fat old hop – toad. Wouldn't take too much work…" – Arne warned quietly.

"Oh, shut your trap you pea - brain lummox" – huffed Clydas.

"I'm serious" - Arne whispered cryptically – "Have you heard what the sell – swords say about him?"

"No. And I don't want to" – Clydas snorted – "I've got better things to do than waste time on a lot of horseshit those foreign mercenaries spew. Don't trust any of 'em"

Suddenly the sound of floorboards creaking quietly and soft approaching footsteps caught Jon's ear. Storm was obviously done with raiding the larder and decided to eavesdrop on his new stewards, Jon thought and decided to give Arne and Clydas a warning.

"Nothing's been right since that fire - king came to the Wall. And Snow should never have…" – the old man continued, completely oblivious to Ghost's growling.

"Well if you're so smart, how do you propose to fight the Others without the king's help?" – snapped Arne his patience with Clydas growing thin – "Haven't you heard what happened to the poor wildlings? And the rangers believe that it was the Others that caused those storms last night"

"Ain't natural, none of it" – the old man hissed fearfully - "And that red bitch… Locking her up was the smartest thing Thorne ever did in his life. But now that king o'yours is gonna let her out, is he?"

"I don't know" – Arne whispered cautiously – "Lemm the jailor said that Stannis and the maester went down to see her this morning. They didn't leave her cell and Lemm didn't dare to even peek in, but he said they were with her for a while and at the end of it she screamed like she was being tortured."

"Thought you just said they didn't leave the sell" – Clydas replied quietly – "How did they do it, with a rope?"

"No, that's the point" – said Arne, his voice so low it was barely audible – "They had no ropes or anything. Lemm thinks they did it with magic. He thought he saw strange flashes of light that didn't look like fire at all come from under the door as she screamed"

"Serves her right! Burning that wildling to worship that fire – god of hers. I don't like 'em, but if you want 'em dead, hang 'em or chop the damn head off. But where the heck did that…magic thing come from?"

"Remember that shiny sword Stannis had when he first came? Made quite a show of it when they burned the horn. Lightbringer, Lord of Light and all that shit?"

"Aye"

"Well apparently, it was a fake. Now he's found the real one in the old crypts of Winterfell. It shines so brightly it can turn night into day and its fire was strong enough to melt down the whole damn castle. Not burn it out, mind you, melt it. Eight thousand year old solid rock gone to dust in a matter of hours. Not to mention a whole field of frozen corpses at the wildling camp. And as if that wasn't enough, the sell- swords say that the new maester is also some kind of a sorcerer"

"The Seven protect us!" – the old man muttered superstitiously – "First that red bitch and now this. What happened next?"

"No one knows really. After they left, the king ordered that no one was to go down into the dungeons until the priestess came out and Lemm's too scared to disobey" – Arne murmured fearfully – "What did they do to her, I wonder…"

"If you're so curious, would you like me to do the same to you?" – suddenly came the soft, cattish, playful voice of healer Storm.

Jon wished he could laugh out loud at the horrified grimaces the stewards' faces contorted into as they jumped with fright.

Well, he did warn them…Serves them right for not paying attention.

"Don't worry, Arne" – Will continued genially as he sauntered into the room with a cheeky gleam in his eye and a vaguely goofy smile on his face – "You're safe… for now…"

"Apologies, ser" – the young steward muttered, lowering his eyes and trying a little too hard to concentrate on his broomstick. Clydas mumbled something into his little beard and buried his head inside the shelves of his cupboard, also pretending to be very busy.

Who are you really, Jon thought mistrustfully as he watched the healer out of the corner of his eye. He seems a good - natured, jolly, clever young man with the laid – back confidence of a true master of his craft, but there is something strange and rather ominous about him, Jon's direwolf instincts told him. As though he has some part to play in a story that is not yet known to anyone, possibly even him.

What could his role be, Jon wondered. For good or evil? Since Storm was a healer the answer to that might seem quite obvious, but Jon somehow knew that there was more to his apparent open – hearted kindness and healing power. Something illusive and barely detectable even to a direwolf, let alone a human. Something very dark and very powerful… A shadow hiding in the flickering of his light…  
As if in response to his silent questions, Jon suddenly began to feel a gentle and rather familiar presence. It was soothing and caressing and warm, as thought the chamber was suddenly being heated by more than just the fire from the ginormous stove. Magic…

"Never mind the 'ser'" – Storm smiled affably as he sat down onto the dusty floor next to Ghost and started stroking his head – "Just plain 'Willem' will do"

Jon wanted to jump up and growl or even bite as Ghost would have done normally. Who the hell did Storm think he was, a little puppydog?! He was a wild direwolf, the king of the forest and the spirit of freedom. No one was allowed to touch him against his will, especially a man he didn't trust or even know. But astonishingly, he didn't even move.

The healer's touch felt strangely comforting and tender, yet firm and sure. The very first stroke of his fingers sent a wave of soothing and invigorating warmth through the wolf's body, calming him, making his muscles relax and his tail wag. And before he knew it, Jon was lying calmly on his belly, almost wanting to whine with pleasure as all the hurt and worry in his heart and mind melted with every stroke of Willem's hand. He felt himself enveloped in an invisible light of safety, sympathy, understanding and tranquility, all his resistance and mistrust dissolved into nothing in a mere blink of an eye. A worrying, but very welcome relief of all his grief and anger…

"Has the priestess' chest been brought up yet by the way?" –Will asked as he scratched Ghost's ear.

"Not yet, maester Willem. Shall I go fetch it?" – Arne replied rather cautiously.

He was obviously still feeling a bit nervous around his new master, but Jon could sense both his and Clydas' tension subsiding and was rather glad to see that Storm's soft and relaxing aura didn't affect him alone. Jon had no doubt the humans could not feel the gentle magic as he did. But it's effect on them must've been quite similar.  
Is this is why the normally cold, composed, snide and impenetrable Stannis was so quick to trust the young healer he barely knew, Jon mused as he stretched his paws out comfortably and tilting his head to allow Willem better access to the fur behind his right ear. He didn't feel any magic when he listened to their conversations, but then again, he might have not been used enough to his direwolf senses to detect it. And what of the priestess? Jon doubted Melisandre's powers were anything like Will's, but he remembered all too well how she was able to call Ghost to her.  
This should be frightening, he thought lazily as he continued to wag his tail, basking in the delight of the silent power. This weird, ancient force that can do anything it seems, from raising the dead, to healing the wounded and manipulating men's hearts and minds. No wonder the maesters try their best to deny its existence and make the rest of us forget it ever was. It is too strong and we are defenseless against it…

"It's too heavy for one man. We'll go together after you've dealt with that floor"

"And what in the seven hells do you need that abomination for pray?" – grumbled Clydas, who'd grown bold enough to peek from out of his cupboard.

"That abomination contains some very rare and valuable ingredients. Which is more than I can say for that larder" – Will chuckled pointing his thumb at the numerous herbs and bottles, piled up next to him and Ghost.

"Well, what did you expect to see at a godforsaken place like Castle Black?" – Clydas snorted – "This ain't the Citadel, you know"

"Speaking of godforsaken places, I believe there's an abandoned old infirmary on the other side of the castle" – Storm asked as he leaned on a completely relaxed Ghost to make way for Arne who'd gathered a pile of dark – grey dust off the floor and was heading towards the window.

"Aye" – Arne nodded as he opened the shutters – "It's been locked up for many years"

"I'd like to see it. I was told maester Aemon had the keys, but I can't seem to find them anywhere"

"Probably threw 'em into that pile you've got there" – Clydas huffed grumpily – "Think they were somewhere up in the rookery last time I saw 'em. I'll go look for 'em then, shall I?"

"Thanks" – Will nodded affably.

Huffing, puffing and muttering something indistinguishable, old Clydas traipsed slowly out of the room and slammed the door behind him.

"So, what do the sell – swords say about me?" – Storm asked curiously, turning his attention back to Arne – "Oh, come on. I'm sure I'm not half as scary as they describe"

"Well… they say you know how to get rid of bloodpoison. And that you can heal a wound with a single touch" - Arne answered with a curious smile on his long, narrow face, all fear and apprehension obviously gone from his voice and posture – "Some even say you're a skinchanger…"

"Of course I am. I also sprout horns and fur and like to howl at a full moon…" – laughed the young healer.

But the rest of his joke was lost on Jon as a rush of icy wind suddenly swept into the room from the window Arne forgot to close, bringing a faint sound of footsteps creaking in the snow and a whiff of familiar scent. It was strong and earthy, metallic and bloody and leathery. The smell of a ranger. A smell Jon remembered so well, he could hunt it down across time itself. And mixed with it was another odor, still unfamiliar – soft and young, yet with notes of steel and fear…

Calm as he was from Storm's spell, Jon still felt a jolt of deep, primal rage stir in his heart as he realized that the new Lord Commander was walking across the courtyard and his young protégée was with him. Immediately Jon uttered a low growl. Part of his reason for coming to the maester's chambers was to try and avoid Thorne as best he could because the urge to kill was very strong and yet the old bastard seemed to always be too near. Jon felt his direwolf blood stir and speak to him, begging him to attack. To jump out of the window, run his enemies down, bury his fangs in their throats and taste the salty, metallic warmth of life in their veins. They were so near… so oblivious to his presence… the perfect opportunity…

But the serenity of Willem's hands seemed to give his human spirit strength and help restrain the wild wolf's body. He couldn't possibly attack now. He'd most likely die for the second and final time since Thorne was armed and there were plenty around to fight for him. But more importantly, Jon knew he couldn't kill the old ranger. Not with the Others marching on the Wall. Not when Thorne had the wit to present the king with horribly correct and now rather obvious ideas that both Jon and even Stannis had failed to come up with…

"Off with you" – suddenly came a faint sound of the old ranger's deep, rough, husky tones from across the courtyard.

"Aye, Lord Commander" – Olly replied with a slightly bitter note in his voice.

What're you up to now, you scheming bastard, Jon wondered, pricking up his ears.

"And tell Storm that he can do whatever he likes with the old death - house, but he'd better be fully prepared to treat the wounded when we return tomorrow. And you'd better be working your hardest to help him"

Is Olly to be the maester's third steward, Jon thought with surprise. This was certainly a rather unexpected turn of events. Olly'd always been a very observant and capable lad, so why wouldn't Thorne want him as his personal steward? Did he decide an older and more experienced man would be better suited for the job? Was Olly tasked to spy on Storm, whom Thorne knew to be one of Stannis' advisors? Or was it simply that the old ranger didn't trust the little backstabbing bastard, Jon thought maliciously. After all, if the rascal was capable of betraying and murdering a man who'd saved his life and loved and nurtured him like a brother, there's no telling what else he was capable of. Only a fool would trust him and keep him close. And, sadly, ser Alliser was no fool…

"I'll do my best to serve, Lord Commander" – Jon heard Olly mumble.

"Wipe that scowl off you muzzle and be grateful" – rasped Thorne - "It is a privilege to serve as the healer's aid and learn from him"

"I want to fight" – Olly hissed defiantly and a bit resentfully.

Their footsteps stopped and for a moment the courtyard went quiet. Jon pricked up his ears even more, expecting ser Alliser to fly into one of his usual tempers Jon was so familiar with or just order the lad away… But to his surprise after a moment's pause the ranger replied.

"Tell me something, boy" – he said calmly, even affably – "Do you agree with the late lord Snow that the wildlings are the same as us?"

"Of course not, Lord Commander" – the boy answered, his voice angry, but unsure. He seemed taken aback by the question. As was Jon.

"Why are we different?"

"They're thieves and murderers!"

"Look around you" – Thorne replied with a cold chuckle – "Most of our brothers are thieves and murderers. Most of the lords of Westeros are thieves and murderers too. They're also liars, traitors and schemers, who care about nothing but stuffing their pockets with gold and their bellies with wine"

"But…The wildlings're our enemies" – Olly protested – "Have been for years"

"Aye, but that doesn't make them any different from us, does it?" – ser Alliser replied deviously.

If the nasty scraping sounds of Arne's broom sweeping the wooden floor and the thick smell of dust mixed with herbs weren't proof enough that he was awake, Jon'd be biting himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming. Was that really Thorne outside, calmly talking to a recruit who was questioning his orders instead of just cracking the whip? And explaining what he believed the Night's Watch was really fighting for instead of snarling and insulting everyone around him?

"But… the Wall was built to keep them out" - Olly muttered, not really knowing what else to say.

"Maybe it was and maybe it wasn't" – ser Alliser replied musingly. After last night he wasn't sure what to believe anymore...

"Well?" – the old ranger asked sternly – "Anything else you can think of?"

"No, ser" - Olly replied reluctantly.

"I'll tell you. The answer is simple. It is 'Choice'"

"Ser?" – Olly asked confusedly.

"The choice most of them have been making for thousands of years to do whatever they want whenever they want to do it. As long as they are strong enough to get away with it. Every single wildling believes himself to be too smart, too good and all – sufficient to answer to anyone, so they respect nothing but strength, follow no laws and have no discipline. That is why each one of their little tribes is at war with the rest of the world, why their women have to fight as well as their men, why in eight thousand years they haven't developed any skills to speak of and are still living off raiding villages, killing better men and stealing what they had made. We, southerners have chosen a different way of life. We have cast aside that stupid, unearned pride and embraced the fact that a man can only be good at so many things. It takes all kinds of men to make the world and to succeed we have to work together. Lords, warriors, peasants, clerks, maesters, merchants and all the rest have their different duties, but all of us, even kings, answer to one thing – the law. And law ensures that every single one of those different men is protected and respected. Regardless of where his strengths lie. At least that's how it's supposed to be. This is called teamwork. And it is a truth tested by time that a team will accomplish things that no man could ever do alone. Our ways and laws may not be perfect, but throughout the centuries we have built up a commonwealth in which every man and woman have their own purpose and their own role and value in the balance of life. That is how every great civilization, from Old Ghis and Valyria to Westeros was built. That is also how the Night's Watch works. Stewards, Builders and Rangers work differently, but together we provide protection for the realm and for each other."

Well, if that what you truly think how come you've always treated Samwell Tarly like a pig, Jon huffed with both contempt and curiosity, wishing dearly he could ask.

"But any team is only as good as it's weakest man. That's why in a perfect world every man should put the good of the team before his own wishes and work his hardest not only to perfect his strengths, but to break down his weaknesses. Which, sadly, few are willing to do. That's why both Westeros and the Night's Watch are such a bloody mess. Do you understand what I'm saying, lad?"

"I think so, ser" – Olly answered meekly.

So do I, Jon thought gravely, hardly believing his ears and cursing Thorne for never having taught all of that to his recruits. He may not have agreed with everything Thorne said, especially about the wildlings' pride and supposed delusions of grandeur, but Jon could not deny that there was a hard core of truth in the old ranger's words. And had he heard and understood the former Master at Arms earlier much would've been different. For both of them…

"Well, good for you. It's more than Snow ever did" – Thorne continued solemnly – "The Night's Watch doesn't defend the Seven Kingdoms just to save the lives of men. What we're fighting for is our chosen way of life. That is why the wildlings are just as much a threat as the Others are. How in the Seven Hells anyone including Snow and Stannis Baratheon could trust them to settle down on the Gift and embrace the Southern way of life after eight thousand years of doing whatever they please and running roughshod over everyone and anyone is beyond me…"

Trusting them was entirely beside the point, Jon wanted to scream. You said it yourself, the wildlings aren't that different. They are men too. And men do not just fight, they also talk. It may not come natural to them, but the wildlings are capable of parlay with their enemies and reaching an understanding. They've proved that by uniting under Mance, by following me through the Wall… They never stopped thinking of you as enemy, yet they found it in their hearts to come to Castle Black and tell you what their warg scouts had seen beyond the Wall. Val never stopped hating Stannis and defying him with every chance she got, but she was still prepared to kneel before his queen… Even you, ser Alliser, were prepared to work with them when you decided to let us through the Wall, you said so yourself… How do you explain that?

Oh, how he wished he could ask and hear the answers, Jon thought, letting out a quiet growl of frustration. How he wished they both hadn't been so stubborn and would've got to know each other better…

Whether it was Thorne's words or Storm's hands or both Jon didn't know, but somehow, he didn't hate the old ranger as much anymore…

"Why did you let them pass, then?" – Olly interrupted impatiently. He obviously wasn't too pleased with Thorne either, Jon noted with a contentment he didn't really want to admit.

"In times of peace I wouldn't have. But when you've got ten thousand men up against millions of wights and goodness knows how many walkers even a couple of thousand wildlings are better than nothing. Not nearly enough to make a difference, but still… worth risking the mayhem they no doubt would cause. And since winter is coming, there's no too big a threat to the Gift"

"Ser?"

"Ask again when you've learned some basic arithmetic" – Thorne said dismissively – "But the Others've seen to them, so…"

"The rumors are true then?" – Olly asked excitedly – "Are they really are all dead, ser?"

"Yes" – ser Alliser sighed heavily – "But that is none of your business. Right now, your concern is to learn everything the maester chooses to teach you. And to do your best to be more of an asset than a liability to the Night's Watch, understood?"

"Aye, ser" – Olly replied spiritedly – "I will work as hard as I can"

"That you will, boy. And you will stop when you're done, not when you're tired" – Thorne added firmly, but rather affably – "Now, scram"

Next thing Jon heard was the sound of snow creaking gently as Thorne turned on his heel and walked away, heading north, most likely towards the Wall, his stride light, but sure, the well – practiced motion of a ranger. A few seconds later came Olly's quick and careless footsteps, running towards the keep. Jon growled and bared his fangs as he heard the heavy doors open. His animosity towards Thorne may have somewhat subsided, but the hurt of Olly's betrayal was still fresh and bleeding and even Willem's spell was not enough to make it better.  
Thorne, at least, had been honest in his disdain towards Jon… But Olly… Jon gave the boy everything he could and did the best that he knew how to do for him. He'd loved the little bastard like a brother and was even willing to groom him for command as Mormont had done him… and what was his reward? A malicious lie, a deadly ambush and a stab in the belly! Suddenly Jon wondered whether Olly's affection for him had been fake all along. The boy's devotion had at first seemed to be so genuine and natural, given everything he'd been through in his short life. But then again, as Thorne was no doubt well aware, it was way too easy to feel compassion for a poor orphan, especially one as sincere and single – minded as Olly appeared to be…  
The wild urge to kill reared it's ugly head again and was getting stronger by the second as Jon listened to the boy's footsteps drawing closer and closer.

"There, there boy" – Willem said kindly - "Someone is coming to see us, huh? Who is it?"

Jon's answer was a growl that coincided with a quick knock.

"Pardon me, maester?" – Olly said in a quiet, but firm voice as he poked his head in the door – "My name is Olly, ser, the Lord Commander has assigned me to be one of your stewards"

"Yes, he told me about you" – Storm replied with a welcoming smile – "Come in, lad"

"Yes, ser" – nodded Olly as he slowly made his way into the chamber, but decided to stay in front of the door, all the time looking at Ghost fearfully.  
Jon bared his fangs and stared intently at the boy, fighting the direwolf killer instinct with all his might. His prey was so near, so defenseless and so afraid, his blood was running wild with thirst…

"Ghost, calm down" – Storm told him soothingly – "What's wrong with you?"

The flowing sound of Willem's voice felt like a cool compress on Jon's feverish forehead. It seemed so soft and gentle, as though woven from silk and velvet, but there was something else hidden in those tender and rich tones, thought Jon as his rage slowly subsided and his human mind was in full control again. It was steel. Hard and cold and merciless. Like a sharp sword, hidden inside a beautiful, velvet – covered scabbard, the healer's voice, so full of wise sympathy and kindliness, was no less commanding and compelling than an officer's roar.

"There's nothing wrong with him, maester Willem" – Arne replied resentfully – "It's only natural for the wolf to hate the scum that killed it's master"

"Excuse me?" – Will said, looking up with surprise.

"That little bastard was one of the traitors that killed our chosen Lord Commander" – Arne said maliciously – "He lured Jon Snow out into the courtyard on Thorne's orders and stabbed him to death with the rest of them"

"Really?" – Will asked, eyeing the boy curiously.

"Yes, maester" – Olly replied defiantly – "And I'd do it again. Snow was a traitor to the Watch and unworthy of the Lord Commander's cloak"

"Why you…" – Arne hissed angrily as he lifted up his broom threateningly.

"Alright, calm down, both of you" – Will intervened evenly. The notes of cold sharp steel in his velvety voice were more obvious to Jon than ever – "I understand your feelings, but I'm afraid you two will have to work together weather you like it or no. So it's best for all of us if you find a way to do so. Don't forget, in a few days or weeks we're going to be looking after hundreds of injured warriors and I will not have your animosity interfere with our work"

"Yes, measter" – both watchmen answered reluctantly still glaring daggers at each other. And Jon knew right then and there that they would never disobey him.  
Could they hear what he'd heard, Jon wondered as he watched Arne take up his broomstick again. Could they sense the quiet but powerful command in Storm's voice or would they attribute their obedience to his words of wisdom and their own decision?

"Good" – Will nodded approvingly.  
"The door isn't going to fall down lad" – Will added with a cheeky smile as he turned his attention to Olly again – "No need for you to prop it up. Don't' be afraid, Ghost won't hurt you, will you boy?"

Jon really wished he could tell Storm exactly what he wanted to say, but all he could do was growl angrily.

"The Lord Commander ordered me to remind you that the king and the scouting rangers are leaving Castle Black shortly and we're expected to be ready to treat the wounded when they return, maester Willem" – said Olly, slowly and carefully making his way past Jon.

"Aye, I remember" – Willem nodded musingly as he resumed stroking and scratching Ghost's head, trying to calm the edgy wolf – "We'll be ready for them, but we've got a long night of cleaning and brewing potions ahead of us. It's the rest of the soldiers I'm concerned about… Hopefully Clydas will find the keys…"

"Ser?" – Arne asked, bemused.

"Nothing" – Will replied cryptically – "Can either of you read?"

"No, maester" – Arne and Olly replied simultaneously.

"Pity" – Will sighed as he suddenly got to his feet – "Alright then. Olly, go get yourself a broom and help Arne clean up this mess. After that I want you two to get water for at least five large cauldrons. I'm going to have to go to the kitchens and see if I can find anything that could be of any use to us"

"Yes, maester" – Olly said respectfully.

"Well? What're you waiting for, you little shit?" – Arne hissed maliciously.

Olly nodded and, throwing Ghost a fearful and nasty look scampered away.

"Maester… I know it's not my place to say, but you'd better be careful with that little bastard" – Arne said gravely – "And his master"

"I'll bear that in mind" – Will replied absently – "Which potions have you brewed, Arne?"

"Just the usual ones, Maester. Firemilk, dreamwine, moontea…"

"Right. What about Clydas?"

"I can't say, but I think pretty much every potion measter Aemon used"

"Well then, you're going to see some pretty interesting stuff tonight" – Will replied with a rather smug smile on his face, making Jon wonder if he should give the young healer a little bite just for humility's sake – "Come on, Ghost. I'm sure we'll find something tasty for you down there"

Jon got up, stretched his paws and trotted towards the door. He certainly wouldn't mind stealing a chicken or two from the cooks. Besides, if Stannis and the rangers were leaving soon, he'd be damned if he stayed behind. He wouldn't miss this scouting mission for the world.

Brienne's heart was pounding wildly against her ribcage as, treading slowly and lightly, she followed her companions through the thick and ancient trees of the Haunted Forest, keeping seven paces from the man in front, her eyes boring into the darkness. She could hardly even breathe as the cold of the forest mixed with fear and anticipation and her entire being concentrated on every barely distinguishable shadow looming between sparse, thin and flickering silver rays of moonlight that were able to make their way through the thick web of branches above. It was near midnight and they were deep in enemy territory. Four men, a woman and a direwolf brave enough or foolish enough to walk the edges of the world of men...

This mission, even a small part of it was truly an eye - opening experience. How different it was from what she'd imagined only this morning! Nothing at all like the slow and clumsy march, called the Great Ranging the men at Castle Black told her about or the long fight – packed missions she had always imagined.

When the king told her she was to accompany him beyond the Wall, Brienne was over the moon with excitement. Her very first scouting mission! And not just any old scouting mission… a real ranging with the legendary members of the Night's Watch! With "the purpose of locating and observing the ice – demons' scouts" as Stannis'd put it. Of course, the Lord Commander had been against her joining them and insisted she give Oathkeeper to one of his rangers, claiming it was difficult enough to have one man with no experience along, let alone two. But, to her eternal joy, Stannis had decided to bring her anyway since she was the only person at Castle Black ever to hold her own against a White Walker. And she was the only person Stannis could really trust, though that part was obviously never said outloud.  
What else could she expect from a man like Thorne or indeed from any of them, Brienne huffed to herself proudly as she rode through the passage under the Wall next to king Stannis and the rangers. No one ever believed she could be as good a fighter as any man and she'd always proved the naysayers wrong. And, no doubt, she would do so again. Besides, what could possibly be so difficult about this ranging business?

As their small party rode on through the day and into the night, the happy excitement in Brienne's heart was slowly replaced by perfect concentration and a calm clarity of what needs to be done and how they were going to do it. She kept her mind alert and busy by remembering all the rangers'd taught her and Stannis about hand signals, formation and motion and when she was sure she knew it all, Brienne revised her newfound knowledge again and again and again. It would never do to forget something at a time like this…  
After what seemed like hours of riding in the dark, they stopped near an abandoned old wildling village, dismounted and left the horses at a secret hiding place that was often used by rangers. According to the Smallwood, it was too dangerous to go on horseback any further so they'd continue their journey on foot. And they would have to do so in complete silence.

As both Brienne and Stannis had no ranging skills, it was decided that Thorne and Buckwell'd go ahead to scout while Smallwood leads the rest of them to a certain rendezvous point. Although Brienne had no idea where or when they were supposed to meet, the two rangers'd been gone a while and she was watching and listening intently for any kind of movement or sound that would indicate their return. Everyone else seemed to be doing the same. Everyone except the direwolf Ghost, who'd also trotted off into the darkness, no doubt bored by the slowness of their pace.

Brienne'd always wondered why men of the Watch wore black. It seemed such a ridiculous camouflage for men who live their lives in the snow. But now, she understood. It was obvious. As soon as Brienne saw Thorne and Blackwood suddenly melt into the darkness of the night, she knew that rangers of the Nights Watch were no ordinary soldiers. Slick and stealthy they seemed to appear and disappear at will like shadows. Invisible, yet ever-present and ready to attack at any moment. Black and lethal. Swift and silent and deadly…

Suddenly Brienne gasped. Concentrated and alert as she was, she couldn't help being frightened when, quite unexpectedly she saw Thorne materialize from behind a tree right next to her. She'd looked his way no more than a moment ago and yet she never heard a noise out of the ordinary or detected any movement. Never in her life could she imagine that darkness could conceal a man so well. Both her companions immediately turned around.  
Well, at least she wasn't the only one to miss him, Brienne thought, embarrassed.

The ranger glared at Brienne and gestured to be silent, inwardly cursing Stannis for allowing the girl to come along instead of making her give up her sword. Brienne raised her hand apologetically and felt her blood freeze with fear for the first time tonight as she saw Thorne signaling them to follow him. He had found what they were looking for…


	15. Chapter 15

Darkness… cold, sticky darkness floating through the forest like ink in water, swallowing what little light the feeble, cloud – covered moon could give, crawling under every stone and into every crack in the bark and enveloping the world around him. The shadows have finally reached the southern edge of the Haunted Forest and there was no doubt their masters were close behind.

Jon felt the fur on his back rise and crouched down instinctively as the icy stench of death stung his nose and a terrifying and sickening, yet very familiar sensation made his gut turn... Magic…

Jon let out a low, angry growl as he remembered the dark and ancient power from an unknown land far, far to the north that brought the blizzard which swept over the Gift not two days ago and took the lives of over five thousand of his fellow men. This time it was not nearly as strong as the one that came before, but still present and lurking somewhere between the slimy darkness of the night and the freezing bite of snow, destined to strike terror into the heart of any living being foolish enough to face it.

But none of his fellow creatures were that stupid, Jon thought fearfully as he stared into the thick veil of blackness hanging in the air and listened to the ringing silence. All the other animals were safely hiding in their dens or lairs and would not brave this unholy night for anything.

Jon quickened his pace and concentrated hard on fighting the urge to stop, lie down and conceal himself in the deep snow or to go back to the party of rangers he left behind a while ago and stay under the protection of Stannis' sword. He had to go on. No matter how scared he got or how perilous his journey would turn out to be, he would not hide or turn back. He couldn't. Because there was no one else in the whole world that could do what he was planning to do… what needed to be done…

The rangers could lead the king wherever he wanted to go and Stannis could keep the walkers out of the Seven Kingdoms with his sword and armies for a while, but he would never win unless he knew who and what he was really fighting. And at the moment no one south of the Wall knew anything of the Enemy except for a few facts some maester wrote down thousands of years ago and a few legends the wildlings had composed even earlier. And every single answer those vague and blurry 'founts of wisdom' did provide led to a thousand more questions.

Even the walkers' presence in the Haunted Forest on this accursed night was an enigma. Why were they here? Why would they cast their fearful spell north of the Wall? Was this dark horror always their companion? Jon'd felt no such fear at Hardhome or when he watched the Other take Kraster's son, so probably not. Unless humans were not as sensitive as beasts were and that's why neither he nor any of the wildlings ever really felt this gut – freezing terror, mistaking it for mere cold. Or… If this was indeed a spell cast especially for their scouts tonight, why did they do it? Because of Stannis and his sword? That means the Others are already aware of the Fire King's scouting mission as they were of his journey to Castle Black. Well… Thorne did say, they had some way of spying on Watch… Which, alas, confirms another part of his strange theory. But if the wildlings did break some sort of ancient pact, who was the one advising them to do so? Was it just Mance? Or was Thorne right again and their real enemy was someone other than the Walkers? But who in the world could it possibly be?

Jon knew that none of the answers could be found south of the Wall. But no human being, ranger or otherwise could possibly get close enough to the White Walkers and whatever other foes the Haunted Forest and the endless white desert of death beyond the Frostfangs concealed without being instantly detected and killed. However… a direwolf might…

Perhaps it really was his fate to die and unwittingly warg into a direwolf, Jon thought as he trotted north, his purpose and goal at long last clear in his head.

Perhaps his life and death were all perfectly aligned to what fate or gods or whatever other powers ruled the toils and battles of this world had planned for him. A mission, which he alone could accomplish. And if he failed… well… at least he'd go down knowing he did the best he could.

Besides, death and magic were nothing new anyway, Jon thought dismissively as he felt the snow under his paws turn colder and the stench of ice get thicker and thicker…

Aaachoo!

A huge cloud of dark – gray dust mixed with mold and cobwebs flew into Will's face as he opened the creaky doors of a crooked old cupboard. One of the many putrid half – wrecked pieces of wood standing round the high, sludgy walls of what used to be the old infirmary stockroom.

"Seven hells!" – Will cursed, squinting as he looked at the half – inch high layer of thick dust that covered the empty shelves. A few filthy glass bottles of some unknown marshy concoction stood on the bottom shelf and served as a headstone for a lonely rat skeleton – "When was the last time anyone cleaned this place?"

"Seventy years, give or take. And even then it wasn't too thorough" – laughed Arne, as he swept a huge handful of stinky black dust off the shelf above the old fireplace with the obvious intention of sending it Clydas' way. The old steward mumbled something inaudible, but obviously spiteful as he turned away from his young counterpart and traipsed across the putrid floor towards a huge rusty old chest. Olly, however, was nowhere to be seen as Will had sent the lad to try and find the red priestess, who still hadn't shown herself in the maester's quarters as Will'd anticipated. Someone with Melisandre's skills would certainly be an asset to any infirmary in the world and he and his three hardworking, but inept stewards needed all the help they could get. Not to mention that Will was very keen to try and learn whatever the corpse - woman knew as soon as possible. Surely she realized that and would be equally keen to provide all the help and knowledge Storm needed in an attempt to gain back her king's favor… But, of course… if, thanks to him, she was unable to leave her cell…

"Right" – Willem huffed with a grimace as he took one of the filthy bottles by the neck with two fingers and lifted it to his eyes. He tried to guess what the dirty – green liquid inside might be, but soon decided a concoction like that was way beyond his modest scope. As was the old maester's reason for abandoning such a huge, masterfully constructed stone building in favor of the minute wooden keep.

Will didn't get a chance to inspect the first three floors too thoroughly as the stars was already up and shining and there was still no end to the work that needed to be done before tomorrow, but from what he'd seen those floors seemed identical, with rooms packed tightly on both sides of long narrow corridors. Those numerous small chambers had high ceilings and were separated from each other by stone walls. Each one of them had a window with wooden shutters most of which, according to old Clydas, were nailed in. The fourth floor contained several large, spacious rooms, all of which were clogged with old half – rotten junk. But Will could guess which one of them used to be the library, the maester's chambers and his workroom, the stewards' chamber, the surgery and the stockroom.

"What's the point of wasting time and effort on cleaning something that no one ever uses?" – Clydas grumbled irritably.

As if revolutionizing the maester's keep, dragging them to this disgusting place and making them climb all the accursed stairs to the top wasn't bad enough, now that Storm fellow was talking about cleaning it?!

"Strange…" – Will muttered and put the bottle back on the shelf - "Why would maester Aemon want to stay in a cramped wooden house with an entire infirmary available?"

"Because the wooden house is smaller, obviously" – the old steward huffed, rolling his eyes – "The Night's Watch isn't half as big as it was a hundred years ago. Besides, it's easier to warm up, easier for an old man to get around and better for the sick, 'cause all the beds are in the hall, so they remain together. There're no windows downstairs, so no drafts…"

"Ridiculous!" – Storm hissed angrily.

Old Clydas was, of course, referring to a dangerous misconception which was very common at the Citadel, especially among old-school maesters. It was believed that all disease was airborne. And that the sick should be kept locked up together at all times, regardless of their ailments, in a room with no ventilation. This deadly foolishness had cost millions of men their lives and never failed to annoy both Willem and his old teacher Archmaester Marwyn.

"But drafts carry disease, everyone knows that" – Arne replied with surprise.

"No, not everyone. No one in Old Valyria knew anything of the kind. Neither do any of the healers anywhere from Lys to Asshai" – spat Will – "And I'll have you know that even in a backward place like Westeros there are maesters who know better than to agree with that shit"

"You've been to all those places?" – Arne asked in awe.

"Some of them"- Storm replied with a sly grin – "Whoever built this infirmary must've been to those places too. Or at least, he knew that infirmaries should be well – ventilated, have enough windows and enough room to keep the ill as separated from each other as possible. Which is why we're going to move back here lock, stock and barrel"

"What?!" – gasped Clydas and Arne simultaneously.

"But maester" – protested Arne, while poor old Clydas sank limply onto the old chest that creaked with protest – "We only have a couple of days to prepare everything for the upcoming battles. Even if we work night and day, there's no way in the seven hells we can move and prepare everything that quickly. Besides, the rookery is right next to the maester's chambers in the wooden house, but if we move back here, we'll have to open up the old one at the top of the tower…"

"Yet another reason to move back here" – Will smiled contentedly – "Ravens shouldn't be kept anywhere near the sick. As a maester, Aemon really ought to have known better than to shove the rookery into the house"

"And you ought to know better than to shove the sick in with at all that mold" – Clydas said defiantly, huffing with anger as he pointed at the putrid black walls in a last and rather desperate attempt to make the new maester see reason – "It's everywhere, even the cold can't kill it. That shit'll kill ye' quicker than all the walkers, wights and wounds put together. We've treated and healed men in the old keep just fine for many years, so can't you just forget about this old death - house?"

"Well the 'death' part certainly seems accurate"- Will laughed as he took out the rat skeleton out of the slimy cupboard by the tail and dropped it to the floor – "Unfortunately no, I can't. Even if the wooden cabin was a good enough place for an infirmary, it's not big enough. Right now there're nine thousand sell – swords at the castle and about five thousand northmen are on their way to join them. Not to mention five hundred of your brothers. Even if only one in twenty of all those men get sick or wounded, what're we going to do, stack 'em?"

"Fair enough" – Arne grumbled hopelessly.

"You're right about that mold though, Clydas" – Will sighed as he closed the fragile cupboard door.

"What do you want to do then?" – Arne asked curiously.

"There's only one thing we can do" – Storm replied musingly – "We'll have to burn out the building"

"What?!" – gasped old Clydas – "Are you mad? We'll end up burning down the whole damned castle"

"No, we won't"

"Oh really? And how do you propose to keep the fire from spreading to the barracks and the stables?"

"You'll see" – Will answered cryptically.

Arne opened his mouth to protest but was suddenly distracted by the sound of quick, light footsteps of the maester's youngest steward coming up the stairs in a hurry. A sound that made the healer's heart stop with worry and anticipation.

He'd been trying to act sure and aloof all day, but the fear of the unknown was growing within him ever since he'd broken the priestess' choker. Hard as he tried to look as confident with his magic as he was with his healing and successful as he was in doing so, in truth, Will knew devastatingly little of his own power and was as much afraid of it. The more he tried to cautiously explore it, the less he seemed to understand or control it. Most times, when using relatively simple healing or soothing spells, he knew he could fully govern the magic flow within his blood and mind. But there were other times. Times like today when caught up in the moment, he lost his caution to curiosity and unleashed a flow so powerful it could not be controlled, merely directed to do its master's bidding. A bidding the consequences of which were unknown to him.

Many times before Storm'd promised himself he would never venture into the unknown again. But every single time that fearful promise was broken by his endless curiosity and love of magic and knowledge.

"Well?" – Will asked with a smile, eyeing the youngster curiously as he stumbled into the putrid old room. Eyes wide with fear, gasping for air, face bright red, sweat streaming down his cheeks, his doublet and breeches covered in snow, Olly looked like he had just run all the way from Eastwatch with an army of wights hot on his heels.

"I… couldn't find the priestess anywhere… ser" – the lad panted.

"Oh?" – Storm asked calmly, trying to ignore the icy feeling of dread rising quickly in his guts.

"The jailor said… she hasn't left the dungeon yet and that the king ordered no one was to go in while she's there… But I crept down anyway…"

"And?" – said Will, raising an eyebrow.

"There's something very wrong down there, ser" – Olly whimpered fearfully – "I tried to find her, honest I did, but I couldn't make it past the second level. The air stinks so bad, I couldn't breathe…"

"Did you tell the jailor or anyone else of what's going on?" – asked Storm trying his best to sound indifferent.

"No, ser. I ran back here straight away"

"Good. You did the right thing" – replied Will as he gave Olly a reassuring pat on the shoulder as his own heart stopped dead with fear somewhere in his throat – "Now, back to work, all of you. And keep your mouths shut. I'll see to the priestess"

Stannis cursed silently and felt butterflies fluttering in his stomach as once again he heard Brienne slip on the thick layer of ice somewhere behind him, producing a sound that, Stannis was confident, could be heard a mile away.

He wasn't quite sure whether it was the fear stirring in his soul or just the natural fact that people hear better at night since all of the ambient noise of daylight disappears, but right now even the footsteps of the three highly experienced rangers sounded to Stannis like the thundering of a company of heavily armored knights parading through the paved streets of King's Landing. The rattle he and Brienne made seemed far worse. Although he couldn't really blame Brienne for being clumsy since he must've lost his footing or had his cloak get caught in the grabbing branches half a dozen times already, Stannis was cursing himself for deciding to bring her along instead of a ranger.

As much as Stannis hated to admit it even to himself, this expedition was quickly turning out to be the most surprising, unnerving and humbling military experience of his entire life. None of the scouting missions he'd been on before, not even going into Winterfell to rescue Sansa Stark or chasing after the Others on the Gift could compare to this… Sneaking in darkness deep in enemy territory with the nearest friendly force miles away and looking out for an enemy you know nothing about that could appear anywhere at any moment required a lot more skill, experience, and courage than Stannis ever imagined. Perhaps it was due to the fact that this time Stannis had to completely surrender his power and just trust the rangers to do their job, but never in his life had he felt so vulnerable and exposed. Having Lightbringer on his belt was reassuring… but… He had to admit that during those past several hours he'd acquired a whole new level of respect for the Night's Watch and its rangers. Like almost any southerner he'd never really taken the Black Brothers seriously, believing them to be a mere band of half – trained criminals serving their sentence at the Wall, who had no discipline, knew little of war and couldn't even defeat a bunch of scattered, backword wildling tribesmen. Of course, in theory, he knew that to survive alone beyond the Wall a ranger had to be superior to any soldier, but was unable to reconcile thoughts with facts. At least until now that he had to become one of them and walk the edges of the world of men in the dead of night with nothing but a black wool-and-leather Night's Watch uniform between him and the sharp coldness of the air and ice and steel. Straining his senses to their limits, moving as carefully as he possibly could and watching every move of their group's leader, who seemed to be completely unaffected by either the darkness or the cold. Moving as freely and surely on ice as he would on solid ground, Thorne was fully concentrated on scanning his surroundings, alert to the slightest flickering of a moonlight shadow. Stannis didn't need to look back to know that Smallwood and Buckwell were doing the same.

Was it really possible to find an unseen enemy in the middle of their domain and lead the company to them without being detected? Even though Stannis had entrusted the rangers to do just that and was now following their lead to face the unknown, the notion seemed impossible, even ludicrous. A small frightened voice in Stannis's mind was screaming that sooner or later they will be discovered and ambushed, but he took no notice. If there was ever a time in his life to really trust someone else it was now.

Suddenly a rush of icy wind blew in from the north, rustling through the branches somewhere far above the ground and cutting through the Night's Watch uniforms like a knife through butter. There was something vaguely familiar about this sticky darkness and unnatural cold Stannis thought wearily. He could not be sure whether he was actually feeling a slight bit of magic in the air or whether his senses were playing tricks on him. Immediately Thorne raised his hand signaling "Halt" and then "Listen". Stannis' heart was racing out of his chest as he stopped in his tracks, all ears and gazing intently into the surrounding darkness, trying to detect anything out of the ordinary, but to no avail.

"Enemy right", Buckwell signaled silently. Thorne nodded and gestured "Down on the ground. Ambush Right". Slowly and silently, they crouched down, the three rangers flanking both Stannis and Brienne.

Time stopped for Stannis as he lay motionless, trying his best not to shiver and breathing as shallow as possible, the cold air stabbing his throat and lungs like a thousand daggers with every intake, his entire being concentrating on the darkness of the forest, waiting for any sign of movement, still not quite able to believe the enemy would actually appear. And then, all of a sudden, there they were. About two hundred yards away. White shadows floating gracefully through the darkness of the forest. The Others. Five of them. Surrounded by a party of wights… Judging by the way they were moving, they were comfortable in their surroundings and not yet aware of any enemies.

It took almost all of Stannis' self – control to stop himself from gasping. Even now, in the moment, this was almost beyond belief. They have done it! The rangers have proved they were as good as their word and the king's trust in them was well placed. But… could they now trust Stannis to know what he was doing? Could he trust himself? He would not have confessed it even under torture, but all this time Stannis'd had no real plan for the encounter, except stay still as long as possible, assess the situation, improvise and use Lightbringer when necessary. Not the best plan, but a plan nonetheless, Stannis thought, trying to forget the nauseating tinge of panic in his dried – out mouth and concentrate fully on the Others.

Surrounded by fifteen wights, some of which were mere sceletons, the Others rode in formation. Four of them on horseback, wearing the same reflective armor Stannis'd seen before, armed with long thin swords and spears, they formed a box around the Other in the middle – the leader. Just like their comrades he had seen on the Gift, the walkers were all tall and lithe and rode their corpse – beasts as gracefully as Stannis'd ever seen. But there was something strange about the leader. Mounted on a huge white polar bear, dressed in a long, hooded cloak with seemingly no weapons on him, he seemed smaller and somehow softer than the rest of them.

As the Others came closer, everyone stopped breathing. Ever so slowly, Thorne reached down and grabbed the hilt of his sword. Stannis could feel the rangers watching him out of the corner of their eyes, waiting for his orders. But before he could think of anything, he heard Brienne slide Oathkeeper slightly out of its scabbard with a slight barely audible scraping sound which seemed to Stannis to be deafeningly loudly. In a split second the leader of the Others turned his head towards their hiding place and raised his hand. The whole party stopped in their tracks. Moving lightly and even more gracefully than his subordinates, the Other slid down from his polar bear and motioned his guards to remain where they were. One of the guards tried to protest loudly in a strange language the like of which Stannis'd never heard before, but the leader silently raised his hand, refusing to accept the plight and started slowly making his way towards the king of men and his faithful rangers.

He knew all to well who and where they were, that much was obvious, Stannis thought, his mind once again cold and fearlessly clear. Making his decision in a split second, Stannis gestured his companions to stay where they were and jumped to his feet. Clutching Lightbringer's hilt firmly and feeling her magical fire rush into him and set his blood ablaze he went forward slowly to meet his foe.

Will felt a strong bout of nausea as he entered the dungeon. Scared to death and in a hurry Olly'd left the door to the lower levels open and the horribly unique and unmistakably heavy and complex odor of decay which was combined of smells like rotting flesh and rotten eggs and garlic coupled with feces and a mustier smell Will could never quite describe, was quickly spreading towards the upper levels. It had already filled the first-floor corridor and driven out the jailor, whom Will found standing next to the entrance to the second level white as chalk and too scared to go in.

"Oh, thank fuck!" – he rasped when he saw Storm – "About damn time, where the seven hells have you been, you son of a whore?!"

"This is all your doing, isn't it? Knew something wasn't right when that king o'yours wouldn't let anyone go down" – the man gasped fearfully as Will came up – "What the fuck is going on down there?!"

"Why don't you come with me and have a look?" – Storm chuckled meanly, throwing the jailor a deviously challenging look.

"No fucking way" – he replied, recoiling away cautiously as he shoved a torch into the young healer's hand – "This is on your shoulders, man. You and the king caused this shit, so deal with it"

"Wait here and don't let anybody in or out until I tell you it's safe to do so" – Storm ordered as he pushed the jailor out of his way and practically slammed the door in his face.

"The fuck I will" – the jailor grumbled into his beard as he bolted the door and headed towards the exit as fast as he could.

Grimacing and breathing as shallow as possible, Will ran as quickly as he possibly could through the dark and narrow corridors of the lowest levels of Castle Black's legendary ice dungeon, flung the unlocked door of the priestess' sell open and immediately felt cold razor sharp bits of ice cut deep in his guts and the chaos of a thousand thoughts blurred together in panic turn his head. The priestess was lying on her side facing the door, clutching the opened locket in her hand. The flesh had rotted off half of her face, exposing milky – white bones. The rest of it was black and falling off to the floor in small chunks. There was a hole where her nose had once been and her eyes were completely blank and half – rotted.

"At last. You're here" – the corpse rattled in a quiet, strained, high – pitched, wheezy voice, which gave Will the impression that her vocal cords were half gone and barely able to do the job.

"Seven hells!" – he cursed feeling almost faint from the stench as he came down the stairs and knelt down beside her.

"What's happening?" – he asked fearfully as he stared at the priestess' rapidly decaying body

"The Lord is done with me" – said Melisandre replied feebly.

"What?" – Storm asked nervously, bending as close to the priestess as he possibly could.

"It seems the Lord has no use for my service any longer. It is time for me to be set free"

"What do you mean?" – Will asked wearily.

"I cannot call the magic of the bone anymore" - Melisandre whimpered, clutching the opened locket as tightly as her half – decayed hand would allow – "My powers are lost, but I am not dying. I am still bound to this decaying body, I can feel it"

"But… Why?"

"Stop playing the fool you know perfectly well why!" – the priestess hissed angrily – "You damaged the spell but couldn't be bothered to break it completely, could you?!"

"I… I don't understand" – the healer gasped in shock – "That spell was supposed to be binding and completely unbreakable. How… how is that possible?"

"Why ask me? You ought to know. You're the one who wields the power" – Melisandre asked spitefully.

"Just because I wield it doesn't mean I can control or fully understand it" – Will replied reluctantly.

"Make a guess"

"Well… I never meant to harm you I suppose… I guessed that choker of yours was the object of your power and I wanted to see what was inside it. And since thought gives birth to magic that is what the power did. But I still don't understand how..."

"The spell that bound me was created through the blessing Lord of Light by the greatest of his servants. Thus only by His will and blessing can it be broken. By another one of his servants, who apparently is just as great, even if he doesn't know it yet"

"And… um… who is that 'greatest servant'?" - Will asked breathlessly, scared to death of the answer he might get.

"Who do you think? There is only one possible answer to that question. The King of Shadows. The Master of the Forbidden. The Lord of Stygai"

Stygai… Will felt shivers go up his spine at the mere sound of that word. The Heart of the Shadow… the City of Corpses… A place of power so mighty and dark even the asshai shadowbinders never dare to come near it.

"You've heard of it I see" – the corpse continued with a cackle that almost resembled a slight laugh.

"I have…" – Will answered wearily – "Archmaester Marwyn told me about it. A city of death, darkness, and shadowy filth. But I thought that according to legend no one can enter Stygai alive. And no one can ever leave it"

"Your Archmaester was a fool! Stygai is a city of magic and learning. Of temples and libraries and schools" – the priestess countered angrily – "It is a place of knowledge so great and ancient that not even Asshai can compare to it. In fact that knowledge is so great that very few dare to even try to obtain it. It is true, there is a price of passage into Stygai that very few are willing to pay. Life. And the secrets of the city cannot go anywhere beyond its walls. That is why anyone who dares to become a warlock of Stygai trades knowledge for undeath and is bound to the city forever. For most living men cannot walk in the heart of the Shadow"

"Most?"

"Yes. There are men who may enter and even leave Stygai alive. The tiger – men of the mountain clans. The asshai legends say that they may do so because they are the children of Fire and Shadow, who are tasked to guard the mountains of the Morn, Stygai and although they have no magic of their own, the tiger – men walk freely through the Shadowlands, eat fish from the Ash and cannot be touched by any asshai shadowbinder or warlock of Stygai. Although, I see that those legends aren't entirely true. Some tiger – men do have extremely powerful magic"

"Maybe that's because I'm not a tiger – man. But you, I take it, are a warlock of Stygai?" – Will asked as his eyes lit up with excited curiosity he both loved and dreaded. No matter how scared he got or much he told himself to be cautious and even leave the magical arts well and alone, deep down he knew the love of magic would always be stronger in the end. Thankfully...

"No" – Mel shook her head. A few more chunks of black reeking half – melted flesh fell off exposing more of her cheekbones – "But I did give my life as a right of passage into Stygai"

"And there you convinced the Lord of Shadows to bind you?"

"I made a deal with him"

"How?"

"With magic, obviously" – the priestess huffed.

"That is not what I mean and you know it" – Willem snapped coldly – "I'm asking you how did you convince him to bind you?"

"I offered him my soul and five thousand other souls"

"Is that what all those sacrifices of men with no magic in their blood were about? Paying your debt?" – Strom asked disgustedly.

"Yes"

"Why would he want them?"

"I don't know. He just does. Five thousand souls was the price he demanded"

"What else did he ask of you?"

"Nothing" – the priestess replied innocently.

"Are you trying to tell me that the Lord of Shadows would perform a masterpiece of magic for just anyone who walks into Stygai and promises to deliver five thousand souls?" – the healer snorted – "There must've been a very good reason for him to bother with you. What is it?"

The priestess didn't answer.

"Is it because of the sword and the bone?" – Will asked deviously.

"I told him that I wished to serve the Lord of Light, our master. To find Azor Ahai, bring him the sword and fight for him" – the priestess replied evasively.

"Who did they belong to?"

The corpse turned her head away in silence.

"Who did the sword and the bone belong to, priestess?" – Will asked forcefully.

Melisandre didn't reply. For a moment she closed what was left of her eyelids, clutched her broken choker to her chest and lay completely still. Her face that was deformed and distorted with anduish became calm. For a moment Will was afraid that her unfortunate spirit had left the living world for good, but then she shifted and opened her eyes again.

"Set me free" – she croaked as she opened her eyes again.

"What?"

"My journey is at its end. I know that now. The Lord is calling me. My task is almost done" – she whimpered - "Set me free. You could break the other part of the spell if you wanted to. Release me and let me find peace"

"You're asking me to go against the lord of Stygai?!" – gasped Will.

"No. You did that on your own" – the priestess replied with a serene little smile on her unsightly face – "You were meant to do it, don't you see?"

"I didn't know…"

"What difference does that make now?"

"You dare talk to me of finding peace after you stole it from another soul, whose grave raided and whose magic you stole?! After you to condemned five thousand innocent people to die a horrible death for your vanity?!"

"Yes. Because you're a healer. It doesn't matter what I've done. It only matters that I'm a human soul in need of your help. And you know how to give it"

Will opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again with a heavy sigh. The accursed creature was right. Mercilessly right about everything.

"Don't be afraid. The Lord of Light is guiding us, you must see that. It was through him that I chose my way. With his blessing, I took the magic and paid the price for the right to use it. And now, through his divine will, it was taken from me by you" – Melisandre whispered almost happily – "The circle is complete. I thought that I would be the one to help Azor Ahai fight the Others. I've been preparing for that mission my whole life. But it is clear that I am not the one chosen to have that honor. It is you. But you're still afraid to use your power even though the Lord has blessed you like no one else in over four hundred years"

"Fuck your Lord and his blessings" – Will spat angrily – "You want help? Fine. I'll help you. You're right I'm a healer. But like everyone else in this world, I don't work for free. At least not for you. Here's the deal. I'll do my best to break the rest of the spell and let you and the soul you're bound to find the peace you crave. In return, you'll tell me everything I want to know. But if you lie, it'll be my pleasure to tell the watchmen to seal this cell so you can rot in here for all eternity. And trust me, I'll know if you're lying. I will see it""

"Very well"


	16. Chapter 16

"So… Who are you? Really?" - Will asked the corpse in front of him, shivering as he sat down on the icy floor, trying his best to ignore the cold, darkness and the stench, bracing himself for a long, but fascinating night of dark secrets and old magic.

"Very well then, since you're so keen to know. Much good will it do you" – the priestess said rather reluctantly – "But I warn you, I do not remember everything as it's been over four hundred years since I came into this accursed world"

"Four hundred?!"

Stannis'd love to hear this, Will chuckled to himself.

"Yes, boy. I was born in an age when the Valyrian Freehold was at the zenith of its might and the whole world was alive with magic"

"An incredible time to be alive" – Will said rather enviously.

"Yes. Great and terrible. Great for those born in Valyria. And terrible for the rest of the world"

"Where were you born?"

"In Westeros. But I remember almost nothing of my native land. My family sailed east in search of a better life when I was only five or six. I think we were headed for Braavos, but our ship was attacked in the Narrow Sea by lysane pirates. They enslaved us and brought us to Lys to be sold at an auction. I was 'lot seven'"

"I take it you were sold to the red priests?"

"Yes. To the Greatest Temple"

"The one in Lys?"

"Yes. It was the most magnificent place of worship the Lord of Light had ever seen in the Free World. Or seen since"

"The volantine one is very beautiful too. I believe it is considered to be the heir…"

"A mere shadow" – the priestess replied, cutting the healer off – "The temple I grew up in was a place of such majestic beauty people traveled from all over Essos to see it. Even valyrians considered it to be one of the wonders of the world. But life in it was hard and harsh and cruel. Especially to a little foreign slave, who couldn't even speak high valyrian"

"I'm sure" – Will muttered uncomfortably. Judging by what he'd witnessed in Volantis, the priestess' childhood was a difficult one to say the least. The Red priests bought children very young and raised them to be fanatics by working, beating and starving them half – dead, only allowing them to eat and rest after they'd said their prayers to the Red God. They weren't allowed to talk among themselves except in need or to befriend each other. Silent and left alone to suffer, the Lord of Light their only friend, it was no wonder the poor wretches all grew up to believe that life on earth is the hell everyone has to go through before they can be happy in the arms of their maker.

"But I learned quickly" – the priestess continued – "Within a year I could speak the language of the Freehold like a native and found the Light of the Lord. At fifteen I was anointed. Since I had no magical abilities, the high priest, in his wisdom, determined that I should serve the Lord with the beauty of my body, the quickness of my mind and the sweetness of my voice"

"You were a lysane temple courtesan?" – Will asked, looking at the corpse - woman in surprise and admiration. It was a well-known fact that the temple courtesans of Lys were some of the most beautiful and well – educated women in the Freehold who could rival the very best of their pleasure – house counterparts in the 'art of the pillow' as they called it and by far exceeded them in wit and intellect. They were allowed to entertain only the richest and most powerful clients, bringing R'Hollor the best of followers and mountains of gold to their order.

"I was" - Melisandre said proudly.

"Goodness, no wonder Stannis couldn't resist you"

"Stannis was easy game" – the priestess chuckled derisively.

"So, how does a lysane temple courtesan become a shadowbinder hellbent on saving the world?" – Storm asked with genuine interest – "Did the High Priest change his mind about your vocation?"

"Oh, no" – the corpse cackled – "He never even thought of that. Nor did I. True, I was quite envious of my brothers and sisters whose blood was blessed with Fire, who were fortunate enough to preach the word of our Lord and perform miracles in His name, but I was happy to enjoy the pleasures of being a courtesan, admired and even revered for her beauty. Until one fateful night one very honored and special guest came to the Temple"

"Who was it?" – Willem asked curiously.

"His name was Aemyl Aermaerion"

"Never heard of him"

"Of course, you've never heard of him" – the priestess smiled – "Since the fall of the Freehold very few people have. He was the head of one of the five strongest dragonlord families of Valyria and one of the greatest sorcerers that ever walked this earth"

"Really?" – Storm gasped in awe as his face lit up with joyful excitement, almost jumping with impatience to hear about one of the great valyrian maeges he loved and idolized – "What was he like?"

"Majestic" – Melisandre replied breathlessly – "That was his nickname. Aemyl the Majestic. And he truly was. Might and magic incarnate. Almost inhumanly handsome, with very fine typically valyrian features. His hair, however, was raven black"

"Unusual coloring for a valyrian"

"Yes. It was very rare. Black hair was considered to be lucky, the mark of a Maege. But the most amazing thing about him were his eyes. Dark red, deep and shining, they were like two fireballs, emanating power and bringing to light the darkest and remotest corners of your soul"

"Is that why you glamored your eyes to be red?" – Will asked with a sly little smile.

"Yes. When I chose my glamor, I thought… if I could become just a tiny part of what he was, it would be more than I'd ever hoped for or dreamed of. After all, Aemyl was universally acknowledged to being the greatest Maege of his time. Or any time since, as it turned out. The last of the greatest. And the most terrible creature I'd ever seen. Apart from the Others.

"Why terrible?" – Will asked apprehensively.

"Imagine a man whose wealth was exceeded only by his magical powers" – the priestess sighed heavily –"There were no boundaries known to him. He did whatever he felt like doing and no one could stop him from doing whatever he liked. And what he liked to do most was to learn. Everything. At any cost. He saw no real value in anything except magic and science. They were his only real passion"

"That doesn't sound too bad" – Storm replied musingly.

"Not for him perhaps. Or his family. Definitely not for the people whose lives were saved through his power and knowledge" – the corpse chuckled - "But it would have been better for hundreds of thousands of slaves if he'd chosen to spend his time fighting for power or having fun and bedding his consorts like most other dragonlords did. Oh, he enjoyed the pleasures of the body well enough. Although he only had one wife, a goddess of the noblest valyrian blood, he also had several official consorts and visited the courtesans whenever he felt like it. But they were all nothing to him really. Neither was state power. Although Aemyl was one of the five rulers of the Freehold, he was never very interested in his duties. He had all the power he could possibly want within his own blood. His curiosity though… was insatiable. And there was nothing he would not do to try and obtain the knowledge he wanted, regardless of consequences to others or even himself. He could easily walk into a room full of dying people with highly dangerous and contagious disease and heal them with wonders of sorcery. And yet, to be able to do so, he'd founded the pits of Gogossos, sent thousands of slaves there every single year and performed such dark and terrible feats of bloodmagic on them that… could make even a shadowbinder's skin crawl. Not out of heroism or malaise, you understand. Out of mere curiosity. And indifference."

Gogossos… Will knew the name. The city of tears where, according to legend, valyrians used to experiment with torture, disease, and blood magic, even going so far as to force slaves to mate with beasts to produce twisted, half-human offspring.

"Yes. That truly is terrible" – the young healer said, shrugging with horror and disgust and, worst of all, an understanding. He dreaded to admit even to himself that the feeling of lustful curiosity was, regrettably, rather familiar. He felt it when the slavers offered him their slaves and the opportunity to do whatever he liked with them. Will'd refused every single one of those offers as, unlike this great valyrian lord, he was very conscious of the pain he would no doubt cause. But then again… he could never be that powerful… or could he? What would he really give to learn the secrets of those hellish pits? Nothing? Or everything?

"You speak as if you knew him well" – Will continued after a little pause, trying to somewhat change the subject. He really didn't want to tread into the darkest part of his own soul just yet and hoped to goodness he would always have the strength to do the right thing. He'd managed it so far at least…

"I did know him well" – Melisandre replied almost nostalgically – "For years I was one of the servants, closest to his person"

"Oh?"

"As I was saying, one fateful evening, the dragonlord was on his way to Valyria from the south and decided to spend the night in Lys to rest himself and his magnificent black and golden dragon named Ahira. Like many other great lords of Essos, he chose to do so in the Temple. Of course, his arrival had caused quite a stir among the acolites. Everyone was keen to get even a glimpse of the man who was a living legend. And entertaining him was the highest honor that every courtesan dreamed of"

"Was that honor granted to you?" – Willem asked cheekily.

"Oh no. I was not nearly experienced enough to even be considered. Like all the others I was content to spy through the door slits and watch him dine with the High Priest and Agelea, the courtesan our master chose to entertain the almighty Lord. But, as it turned out, the Lord of Light had a different plan. Suddenly, one of the girls lost her balance and accidentally pushed me, throwing me down. I fell through the delicate door and landed right at Aemyl's feet. The High Priest went from red to white with rage and embarrassment, and I was mortified and dying of shame, but Aemyl smiled graciously and asked my name. Then he asked where I was from. When he heard I was a westerosi, he told the master he wished to buy me. And whenever Aemyl the Magestic requested something, he was never refused. So the deal was done. He left in the morning on Ahira and I was sent to his palace in Valyria by ship the following day"

"You lived in Valyria?!" – Storm gasped astounded and rather envious.

"The greatest city of the Known World" – the priestess nodded proudly - "I lived there for eight years. Don't ask me to describe it to you boy. I'd have to be a poet, which I certainly am not. Even now, I do not know the words that would do justice to the sublime beauty of the city that was blessed with the might and majesty of Heaven itself"

"I wish you would describe it" – Will said dreamily – "I wish you'd tell me everything you know of it. But unfortunately, that's not why we're here tonight. You are, though."

"When I was brought to Aemyl's house, I assumed I would be one of his consorts, but the Lord decided he wished me to be one of his personal servants instead. I was to wait on him while he worked. My disappointment must've been very obvious because he laughed at me and decided to give me a new name – Melisandre – derived from the phrase 'meli is andhra' which in asshaii means 'a slave that sounds angry'. He then told me that I will be grateful for the position in the years to come as he didn't buy me for no good reason. I had no idea what that meant, but I had no choice either"

"I wish I were that lucky" – Will said rather enviously – "But why did he give you an asshaii name? And why was he interested in Westeros? He bought you when he heard you were westerosi, I think you said?"

"He would've liked you. You ask the right questions to get to the heart of the matter. But before I explain I have to warn you that all of my knowledge comes from tiny bits and scrapes of conversations overheard, stolen glances at book pages and what little of Aemyl's research I was allowed to observe. I don't want you to call me a liar just because I didn't understand something or made a mistake" – the priestess said defensively.

"I won't. I promise"

"Aemyl gave me an asshaii name because, for some reason, he seemed to love Asshai. He visited the city more times than I can remember, he spoke the asshaii language almost as well as he did high valyrian. It was even said that his dragon Ahira was not a hatchling of Valyria, but a wild dragon from the mountains of the Morn that Aemyl tamed with magic on one of his visits to Asshai. That's why he gave the dragon an asshaii name. 'Ahi'-'ra' means "serpant of fire"

"Amazing!" – the young healer whispered breathlessly – "But… erm… why would a valyrian maege, one of the greatest of them all, be interested in a place like Asshai?"

"Because, as I've told you before, boy, Asshai is a place of great learning and ancient knowledge. And Aemyl, as I soon found out, was obsessed with ancient history" – Melisandre said as her half – rotted face contorted into a little smile – "Particularly the Dawn Empire, the Blood Betrayal and the Long Night. From what I could gather, all of his research had at least something to do with them. Even his experiments in the pits of Gogossos"

"What in the seven hells could abominations like mating slaves with beasts have to do with history?"

"That is a question I once dared to ask Aemyl" – Meelisandre replied – "But I confess, I could never really understand his answer"

"Which was?"

"One word. 'Dragonblood'"

"Dragonblood?" - Storm asked perplexed – "I'll have to think about that one, because I cannot understand it either. But we digress. What about the Dawn Empire? I've read about it at the Citadel, but I've always believed it to be no more than a myth"

"Trust me! If Aemyl was convinced it was real enough to be interested…"

"I'm certainly not going to doubt it" – Will nodded with a smile – "But I've never heard of the Blood Betrayal before"

"The Blood Betrayal was the beginning of the end for the Empire of the Dawn. Or so the legends say. When the seventh ruler of the Dawn Empire known as the Opal Emperor died, he was succeeded by his eldest daughter, known as the Amethyst Empress. But she didn't get a chance to rule because she was betrayed and murdered by her younger brother, who proclaimed himself the Bloodstone Emperor. He was said to have been a demon that worshiped a black stone that had fallen from the sky and committed terrible atrocities. He was said to have feasted on human flesh, practiced the darkest of magical arts, enslaved his own people and taken a tiger – woman as his wife"

"A tiger – woman?"

"Yes, boy, one of your people"

"For the thousandth time, I'm not a tiger – man and I've never been anywhere near Asshai. I was born in Westeros and have never traveled beyond Volantis" – Storm huffed, rolling his eyes.

"And you remember that? You remember being born at Storm's End?" – Melisandre asked searchingly

"Of course not"

"Well then it is possible that you might've been brought to Westeros when you were an infant. Even if the woman who raised you was, in fact, the one who gave birth to you, you cannot know for sure who your real father is"

"True, but…" – Will muttered musingly

"And since the power flowing through your veins is at least equal to the one found in Stygai, perhaps you should concider that the circumstances of your birth and your true heritage might be more interesting than you believe"

"Let us not digress into the darkness of my past. The Blood Betrayal is far more interesting to me at present" – Will told her categorically.

"You cannot hide from the truth forever, boy. I do not know who or what you really are, but the blood in your veins is of the purest valyrian fire and sooner or later, one way or the other you will have to face it" – the priestess replied solemnly – "As for the legend… While the Bloodstone Emperor is considered to be a tyrant and a traitor by yi ti historians, lord Aermaerion did not agree with their assessment. In fact, he believed the man to be a great meage and a hero. He once said that history is written by power and that oftentimes heroes become villains far too easily. Of course, he never explained what he meant, but I know for a fact that he believed that there was much much more to the Betrayal than a mere power struggle. Anyway, the Bloodstone Emperor's reign is said to have been short and turbulent. In the end, he managed to somehow start a war with the Great Other which ushered the Long Night. The asshai books say the Long Night lasted for a lifetime and was ended by a woman with a monkey's tail and the great hero, Azor Ahai"

"A woman with a monkey's tail?" – Will asked perplexed.

"Yes. That is why the yi ti wear monkey tails on their hats. To honor the legendary heroine"

"But who was she and what exactly did she do?"

"I do not know. None of her deeds are mentioned in the legends, at least the ones that I'm aware of."

"That's odd" – huffed Storm – "Why would anyone want to consciously or unconsciously forget the deeds of someone, hailed as a heroine? People seem to remember what Azor Ahai did well enough"

"Good question"

"Unless of course, she didn't really do anything, except die" – Will said excitedly as a marvelous idea sprang up in his brain – "Azor Ahai supposedly forged Lightbringer by killing his wife, didn't he?"

"Yes" – the priestess said, trying her best to nod without losing any more chunks of flesh – "But the best and worst thing about ancient legends is that they are not at all obvious. And one of the strangest things about the legend of Azor Ahai is his name. And also that of his wife Nissa Nissa"

"I don't know about Azor Ahai, but Nissa Nissa does sound strange… the same name repeated twice"

"That is because in asshaii the word 'niśā' means either 'night' or 'dream'"

"Ooohhh… So Nissa Nissa means 'Night Dream'" – Will gasped excitedly – "Gods, I wish I knew asshaii!"

"And the word 'asura', from which Azor was derived, means either 'sun' or 'spirit' or 'cloud'" – continued Melisandre.

"And 'ahi' means 'serpant', I think you said?"

"Correct"

"So… Azor Ahai literally means 'Sun Serpent' or 'Cloud Serpent'"- Storm exclaimed happily – "Thus, the old legend could mean that when a dragon 'killed' something that was a 'night dream' a magical blade was forged and a hero was born, whatever that may mean"

"A dragon. Or… a man of dragonblood" – the priestess said cryptically – "That's right. That is why I was never really bothered with Stannis fitting the description of being 'born beneath salt and smoke' or 'waking dragons from stone'. Because they could mean literally anything. The most important thing was that it was a man of dragonblood that I was looking for. So I found him. And, in a way, he, as the Hero, really was born beneath salt and smoke. The smoke of his daughter's pyre and the salt of his tears for her. Also, it was snowing during the sacrifice. If whoever made that prophecy had never seen snow, it would look like salt falling from the air. And he did draw his sword from fire. Stannis found Lightbringer in a place that was later consumed by fire, didn't he"

"Yes. But if that's the case, how did you know that the blade was real and not just another symbol?" – the healer asked, his breath caught up in his throat as the riddle of the ancient prophecy unfolded magnificently before him.

"Because of Aemyl. I knew he was looking for a sword. The legendary sword of Light. The sword was why he was interested in Westeros. And in Yi Ti. He visited Dorne and Yin more than once and finally declared that he believed the fist Golden Emperor to be the first Azor Ahai. So, that's where I got the sword I gave to Stannis. From his grave in Yin."

"Wait a minute" – Will interrupted suspiciously – "If he was looking for the sword in both Yin and Westeros, how did he know that the one in Yin was the real thing? Why would he look for it in Dorne? Where did he go wrong?"

"I do not know" – the priestess chuckled – "Perhaps he just made a mistake. Even Aemyl wasn't perfect, you know. Or, he wanted to compliment the Yi Ti for some diplomatic reason, it wasn't beyond him to tell a lie like that. Because, although he did his research, he didn't really care about Azor Ahai. It was the Bloodstone Emperor that held his interest. Now that I think about it… It was almost as if Aemyl was trying to relive his life. So much so, that when he came back from his last trip to Asshai, he brought with him a tiger – woman. Which, for a noble valyrian lord, was unthinkable. It was quite the scandal, but Aemyl didn't care. He made her his official consort and, although she hated him and fought him, he mounted her even more often than he mounted Ahira. Not for pleasure, thought. Rather… for some strange purpose that he alone knew"

"Interesting" – Storm said reflectively – "But… he must've had a good reason to do it"

"A good reason which might've led to his death" – Melisandre said enigmatically.

"What?"

"About two months after he brought Jaala, the tiger – woman to his palace, he flew somewhere east, way beyond Asshai and came back wounded and ill. Ahira's wings were also burned and several of his scales were missing. As though they'd gotten into a bad fight with something. But he never told anyone what'd happened. Or why he would even think of going into the Shadowlands to meet his doom. But then again, maybe it wasn't the Shadowlands he flew to. He'd been there many times before and come out again alive and more powerful than ever. Why would anything go wrong this time?"

"I don't even what's beyond the Shadowlands" – Will said, feeling curiosity squeeze his heart like a snake.

"Neither do I, not really" – the priestess sighed – "Anyway, in spite of everything Aemyl, his wife, and other maeges tried to do, the Lord got weeker and weaker by the day. In a fortnight, he was dead. After Aemyl died, there was no one powerful enough to control a mighty dragon like Ahira and a wild dragon obviously wouldn't accept another rider off his own free will, so he flew back to the east. Most likely to the mountains of the Morn, where he was born. Lady Baehra, Aemyl's wife, who had never been too happy about her husband's consorts, decided to sell all of them, including Jaala, to the pleasure – houses and so she did. But Jaala was not going to accept that fate and swore she'd rather kill herself than be dishonored like that. I wasn't interested in being a servant my whole life either, so I offered her a deal. I offered to help her escape home to Asshai in return for safe conduct through the Shadowlands, all the way to Stygai"

"So, you already knew about the ritual?"

"I found out about the binding ritual from Aemyl as I overheard a conversation with his sons" – the priestess continued – "He told them of a man he'd just sent to the pits of Gogossos for trying to perform the binding. He explained how it was possible to perform such a ritual. And who could theoretically do it. And that only a maege like Aemyl himself was strong enough to reverse it, that's why the prisoner was brought to him in the first place. He condemned the man as he would anyone for even thinking of stealing magic. Just like you, he called it the greatest crime a maege could ever commit. But, honestly, I did not care. I knew what I wanted to be and what I needed to do to get there. So I did. After Jaala and I escaped, we both went east. I to Yi Ti and she to her own people. She told me that if I ever wanted her help I only needed to show a tiger eye locket to one of her people and they would take me to her. When I got to Yi Ti, I found the temple with the tomb of the first Yi Ti emperor. Whose bloodmagic could possibly be better to steal than that of the first Azor Ahai, wouldn't you agree?"

"Aemyl's?" – Will huffed with disgusted irony.

"Ha! I considered that to tell you the truth" – Melisandre replied with a cackle – "But I couldn't possibly manage it, I'm afraid. The tombs of valyrian maeges all had powerful protective spells against this kind of thing. The Yi Ti Golden Temple didn't, so raiding its tombs was way easier to do. Especially since the thief, who was brave and ambitious enough to help me was an apprentice monk at the Golden Temple. His name was Lee and he was the son of a noble family which had long lost its power. Or so he claimed. In any case, he had no intention of spending his life praying to the Yi Ti gods. So, one night, we snuck in, Lee opened the sarcophagus and got the bones of the Emperor. We also took the relics which we believed, were our destiny to take. I took the Sword and Lee took the Crown. The Lord of Light was guiding us and through His blessing, we escaped to Asshai without being caught. There, we found a tiger man who led us to Jaala, who, by that time, was married to one of her fellow tribesmen and had birthed a daughter. She honored her side of the bargain and took us to the gates of Stygai. You know the rest"

"Seven Hells!" – Will gasped, shaking his head in shock and awe. He could hardly believe the story he was hearing, but he could see the priestess was telling the truth.

"When Lee and I left Stygai as undead sorcerers, I decided to remain at the Red Temple in Asshai to learn everything I could about magic and the Long Night. So I'd be able to serve the Lord of Light well when the time came. It took me near four hundred years of daily practicing, but, at last, I'd mastered the magic which was now my own and could finally see the Will of the Lord in the Flames. And one day I saw Stannis. Lee, though, chose a different path. He left Asshai for Carcosa. I do not know what he did there, but a couple of years before I left Asshai for Westeros, I heard that he'd declared himself Emperor. A sorcerer lord, claiming to be the sixty-ninth yellow emperor of Yi Ti. "

"Oh, Gods!" – Storm exclaimed, looking both aghast and exhilarated – "But… why? How does anyone decide to sell their soul? Even for a great destiny?! You might be remembered for a few hundred years, but that's it. You've seen what happened after the Doom. Everything the valyrians knew was destroyed, even the greatest maeges have gone to dust"

"Believe me, it is an easy decision to make if you've seen masterful, divine magic, granted from the Lord of Light Himself, like I have, knowing that such a blessing could never be yours by birth" – Melisandre said breathlessly – "Once you've seen one of the Lord's Chosen Sons of Fire be so close and dear to Him, there is nothing else in the whole world that could possibly compare. Nothing else that you could possibly want. It is all you care about. Nothing else is important. It's not about fame or glory. It really isn't. It is about being able to serve the Lord of Light through magic. About being able to speak to him in his own language and listen to his Divine Will, like very few people in the world can. But you could never understand that. You one of the Chosen, Blessed with Divine Fire"

"Well… I do know what it's like to want to be of consequence to those you love" – Will sighed heavily, feeling his heart going out to the poor wretch of a priestess, who, in a very twisted and cruel way, ultimately wanted nothing more, than any living creature does – the chance to be special to the only entity she knew how to love.

"And I do know how amazing the feeling of Fire in your blood can be. That's why I'm afraid of it" – he added quietly.

"You're not afraid of Fire, boy, you're afraid of yourself" – Melisandre replied solemnly – "Afraid of who you really are. But you shouldn't be. There. This is all I have to tell you"

"Is it?" – Will asked searchingly.

"There's just one more thing" – the priestess croaked tiredly, the strain of the long tale taking its toll on her already weak and failing voice – "On the night after princess Shireen was burned I looked into the flames, asking the Lord of Light to show me the enemy. And I saw him"

"The leader of the Others?"

"I assume so. He had a wooden face, corpse white with a thousand red eyes around him. And next to him was young a boy with the face of a wolf"

"I'll remember that" – Storm nodded – "Thank you. You've been true to your word, so I'll be true to mine. However, there's just one more thing I'd like to know that you haven't told me"

"What is that?" – the priestess asked with surprise.

"Your name. Your real name"

"You want to know my real name" – the priestess chuckled – "It's Melony"

"Very well, then, Melony of Westeros and Lys, Melisandre of Valyria and Asshai. I cannot promise to free you. But I will do my best" – Will replied honestly as he got up from the icy floor and stood over the undead creature, lying helpless on the floor, trapped in death and darkness. A creature, who, in spite of all her crimes and fallacies, all the terrible atrocities, was, in truth, merely human. And now, he would help her, with all his heart. Just because now he knew that she was merely human.

"Then that will have to suffice" – Melisandre whispered – "Don't be afraid to face your destiny Willem Storm, whatever it might be. And remember this 'In silence the word, in darkness the light, in dying life'"

With that, the priestess closed her half – gone eyelids clutched her choker in her hand and began to mutter something inaudible. Something Will knew to be a prayer.

"Right" – the healer sighed heavily, preparing himself for what he was supposed to do. What, deep down, he knew needed to be done. What he could only hope, he would be able to do. Will closed his eyes and concentrated hard. His heart was pounding wildly against his ribcage and it seemed like all his blood was rushing in his head as Will called upon the powers of Fire he knew he commanded and bid them free the soul, bound to earth against their will, and the poor and foolish, yet very brave and strong woman of the darkness enveloping them. To restore the victims of the blackest and lowest bloodmagic to their pristine form and bring them back to the Light.

What happened next was unlike anything Will had ever experienced before. All of a sudden he felt every pore in his body and every drop of his blood explode with the heat of the Fire, flowing freely and uncontrollably through his veins and filling the tiny ice – cell with Magic. Flashes of light of all possible colors were rushing wildly before his eyes, blending into a single surreal entity, surrounding Melisandre, encircling her and lifting her up. Her choker was glowing brightly with a beautiful red light and its golden chain erupted in golden flames. Then, all of a sudden, Will felt like he was thrown out of the cell by an almighty force and left to float somewhere beyond time and space, somewhere beyond even himself. He couldn't feel his body, nor his thoughts. There was only Fire. He was only Fire.


End file.
